Snow Birds and Sanctuaries
by WritePassion
Summary: Michael Westen and his friends are stranded in Panama, regrouping and coming to terms with discovering who was ultimately behind his being burned. But Card isn't finished yet, and he's assigned an old friend of Sam's to finish the job.
1. Chapter 1

****_Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it!_

**Snow Birds and Sanctuaries**

By WritePassion

He found it ironic that the only way he could get away from it all was to go to an out of the way place like Panama. Clem Snow had spent considerable time there in his military career chasing down very bad people and taking them out or sending them to prison for a very long time. At first, he thought it was suicidal to return, but once he'd flown in and set his feet on the ground, it wasn't so bad. His life was actually kind of peaceful, which was something he needed desperately. He hunkered down, blended in, and made a new life for himself. He almost forgot his past and the circumstances that brought him there.

As he worked on his fourth beer on the patio of his favorite cantina, Clem mulled over the voice from his past that came through the phone lines earlier, and it was that voice that drove him to his favorite watering hole. He hadn't heard from Tom Card in years, not since Clem decided he wasn't working for the CIA anymore. Burn them before they burn me: that was what he said at the time. He screwed up in a big way, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they did it. Card wasn't happy, but he had no choice. He let him go. Not long after that was when he found himself at his little table in this little cantina, El Santuario, in Panama.

As he nursed his beer, he mulled over the conversation.

"Clement, I desperately need your help! I have a rogue agent down there who's causing all kinds of trouble! His name is Michael Westen, and I need you to find him and... take care of him."

"Tom, I don't work for the agency or with the SEALs anymore. You know that."

"I understand. However, the safety and security of your country depends upon Westen and his friends being eliminated." There was a pause before Card continued. "Don't think you've got it all nice and cozy down there! Westen's been creating mayhem in Panama! He blew up a building, and a car..."

Word had it that an American F-18 had done the job, but he wasn't about to tell Card what he knew. Clem understood when it was best to keep the facts held close to his vest. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Find them and however you have to do it, take them out. Take them all out."

Clem grinned. "Where should I take them?"

"To hell. I don't care. Just eliminate them. Eliminate them all!"

Card's voice carried across the lines with a maniacal, desperate tone that, if he were a lesser man, would have scared Clem. He'd been around too many crazies in his life to know the only consistent thing about them was that they were inconsistent, brazen, and so focused on their goal that everything else became inconsequential.

"Okay, I'll keep an eye out for them."

"No, no, no, you don't get it, Clement. There is no option but death for Michael Westen, Fiona Glenanne, Jesse Porter, and that guy, that guy with the chin. Oh yeah, Sam Axe."

Thinking back on the conversation, hearing that name again was like a fist to the gut. A very strong, well-placed fist. It left him breathless, and Clem did what he could to end the phone call. He promised he would find them and kill them all. Even Sam Axe. Afterwards, he took a shower to attempt to rinse off the guilt he already felt and he hadn't lifted a finger. It did nothing but remove the sticky perspiration that assaulted him every day in that climate. He thought his days of killing were over. Just thinking of doing it again made him sick.

In search of a cure, Clem retreated down the street to the cantina. After some time in his favorite chair in his favorite spot under the palm trees, with a few cervesas under his belt, Clem could crawl back under his rock and remain anonymous. If Card wanted Westen and his crew dead, they would have to come to him. He wasn't going to do the legwork to find them. However, as he sat there with his fourth beer, he realized the truth. Card wouldn't settle for half-butted work. If he didn't do his mentor's bidding, Card would send someone after him next and he knew the end would not be pretty. Just a few blocks away was a burned out hulk of a building that reminded him of Card's power and the United States' military might. Worse things might happen to him, and as the people in that little country knew, Uncle Sam could be a friend or a ruthless benefactor. They'd learned a long time ago that it was better not to resist, so when the building blew up, the people contained the fire and then went about their business again. No one knew why it had been blown to smithereens by a fighter jet with no markings on it, but it was stupid to ask and pay with one's life.

Unable to ease the demons colliding in his numbed mind, Clem arose and walked down the street. He slipped into the quietness of the cathedral, walked on feet that knew their way to his goal without prompting, and he opened the door, sat down, and enveloped himself in the dark coolness.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. Or, will sin."

"My son..."

"I'm about to kill a man. Three of them, really, and a woman. I don't want to, but I... I have to."

* * *

After the building blew up and Brady sacrificed himself in the minivan, Michael Westen and his crew stood beneath the blanket of palm trees waiting. When could they get out from under cover and be safe? Would they ever be free to just live? For six years, since the time he was burned, Michael had been running, chasing and being chased. He was tired. Broken. And now, after witnessing the degree of Card's obsession with eliminating him, Michael felt like he did as a child when his father slapped him so hard he flew half way across the living room. He saw stars and couldn't see straight for ten minutes. All he could do was sit and recover. This time he didn't have Nate or his mother there to comfort him. Nate was dead thanks to Card, and his mother disowned him. She was back in Miami with no clue to the extent that his life had spiraled out of control.

"Mike, what the hell are we going to do now," Sam asked as they watched the F-18 punch through a clump of fluffy clouds, the whoosh of its jet wash fading away.

"I have no idea, Sam." His voice sounded so vacant and lost. If he were alone, he might have crouched down and had himself a good breakdown right there. But he didn't have that luxury, because there were three other people besides himself who were now cut off from their home. "I just know that right now, we can't go back. We aren't supposed to be in Panama. There aren't any stamps in our passports, so if we try to leave..." He didn't even bother to finish the sentence. Fi, Jesse, and Sam all knew the consequences.

Fiona spoke. "We should go back to the staging area and see what we can salvage, if anything."

"You people are crazy," Tyler Grey, the subject of their hunt, spat. "My guys are going to be looking for you, and when they do, you're all dead. You should have just laid down and taken it like a man, Westen. You've been burned, and like a good spy, you should have taken your orders and let them neutralize you."

Michael's fists balled up at his sides. He fought the overwhelming urge to flatten this guy. Tyler Grey may have killed Nate and Anson, but without the ability to take him back for justice, he was useless. Michael was tempted to just shoot him now and be done with him, but then he would never be able to truly enjoy the sweet taste of closure for Nate's sake.

After a few minutes, Jesse spoke up. "I think Fi's right. We should go back, pick up what we can, and find a new place to hole up for awhile. Hopefully we can scrounge up enough cash to get us through until we can find other means to survive."

"I second that," Sam agreed.

Fiona looked at Michael, then sighed. "I agree."

Tyler piped up. "Okay, do I get a vote?"

"No. Just be thankful we don't blow your head off right here, right now," Sam growled as he closed in on Tyler. The man was tied up and kneeling on the ground, but Sam didn't care. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here right now."

"It's not my fault that Westen just had to take me down." Tyler's smile was smug.

Sam wiped it off his face with a well-placed slap. It stung the back of his hand, but he created enough force to drop Tyler to his side.

"Sam!" Fiona put her hand on his upraised arm. "Don't let him get into your head. He'll receive his punishment in time, and we'll all be there to see it."

Instead of striking him again, Sam reached down and pulled Tyler to his knees. "Get up. Mike, are we moving or what?"

Michael's eyes locked on Sam's and saw the rage in his friend. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he'd had to do that so much lately, he wasn't sure what he would be sorry for. "Yes, let's get back to the staging area."

Everything was as it had been when they abruptly vacated the crumbling building, except it sported a few hundred more bullet holes. The M110 was gone, as were all the other guns and toys that the CIA let them bring along. That wasn't a surprise. Their clothing was strewn about the rooms they'd settled into, but other than a few personal care products, nothing was missing. Bad guys had to brush their teeth too, apparently.

"What are we going to do with him now, Michael," Fiona asked as she pushed the butt of her pistol into Tyler's back. "I have some ideas."

"Put him in a room and make sure he's secured," Michael replied. His voice sounded so weak, Fiona studied him.

"We'll take care of that, won't we, Jesse," Sam said as he reached for Tyler's arm.

"Sure, Sam. Come on, scumbag." The two dragged him to an empty room with just a stained, moldy mattress on the floor. "Sweet dreams." Jesse closed the door on him, and he and Sam stood outside it.

"Now what?"

"If we had any beer along..." Sam shrugged. "But we've gotta keep an eye on this guy."

Jesse mirrored the shrug. "First watch is just as good, I guess. Go get some rest."

"Yeah. Thanks." Sam gave Jesse the pistol with only a few rounds left in it. All he needed was one if Tyler tried anything. It would be Sam's pleasure to plug the pea brain of the guy who killed Nate, although inside he knew that it was Michael's shot to take, not his. With a low grumble, he walked away before he made a rash decision.

* * *

"Michael," Fiona began, but she didn't know where to end.

"Fi. I... oh god, I'm sorry."

"This wasn't your fault." She closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around him from behind, and held his body against hers. "You couldn't have known that Card was the one who did this to you."

"I know. I'm sorry we wound up here with no prospects of going home."

"We all understand. Sometimes things happen." She squeezed him tighter. "Don't worry. Somehow, we'll come out of this, make it back to Miami, and then we'll hunt down Card and end his sorry existence."

Michael turned in her grip, placed his grimy hands on the sides of her face, and tilted it upward. "No, Fi. I can't let you all get dragged down with me. If I kill Card, I will be on the run for the rest of my life! Do you realize what that means?" His eyes were wild and wide, pools of pain and weariness built up over the years, so close to spilling over.

When she saw the raw emotion in them, Fiona knew they could never do it. At least not now, with the state Michael was in. "You need to take a little time to rest. Come on, Michael, let's go to bed for awhile."

"It's daylight, we can't waste it."

"What are we going to do? For now, we're safe here." She pulled away and took his calloused hand in hers. "Come along, my love. Rest for awhile. Please." Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper on the breeze of a sweet Miami spring day, when the flowers bloomed and the sea air intoxicated him in younger days. Days when he was innocent and life wasn't so complicated.

Fiona chalked it up to a minor miracle when Michael followed her to the iron bed that they took possession of when they first arrived. She closed the door and shut out the world through the windows by closing the thick curtains. They were up high enough that most people on the street below wouldn't notice the change. For now, she was willing to risk it because Michael couldn't function anymore without proper sleep and a chance for release.

He must have agreed with her, at least inside. Michael dropped onto the bed and flung out his limbs in all directions. She moved to him, removed his shoes first, then his socks, and worked up his body until she stripped him down to his shorts and a t-shirt. She would have liked to remove everything, but in the back of her mind she knew that danger could still be lurking out there and require them to move fast. There'd be no time for dressing properly. Her light touch and slow actions were enough to soothe Michael into a delicate sleep. She smiled at him and moved toward the door.

Sam walked down the hall and met Fiona just outside the room. "Is he sleeping?"

"Finally."

"Good. I'm going to take inventory of what we've got left. If we don't have any funds, I think I figured out a way to contact Barry. I know he can do some magic and get us some cash."

A disgusted look crossed Fiona's face. "To think that we have to rely on Barry to help us!"

"Hey, sister, Barry may be all tattooed, pierced and weaselly looking, but he's a smart guy. He's helped us a lot in the past, and you know he'll keep it all hush hush about us being alive. After all, if he doesn't and we make it back to Miami, he knows Michael Westen will be after his sorry butt." Sam grinned. "He doesn't want that."

"You're right." She sighed and pushed her hair back, combing it over the top of her head with one hand. "Okay, go ahead and do the inventory and contact Barry."

"If it doesn't work, I think I know another way to get some support."

Fiona looked up at Sam and saw a spark in his eyes. He had the proverbial ace up his short sleeve. "Do this first. Let's not play every option at once."

"Copy that." He looked down at her and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. It was so deep, it seemed as if she tried to take on Michael's burden with her own. Sam raised his hand and ran it along her jawline to come to rest below her chin and tilt it upward. "Go rest, Fi. Lay down with Mike and just sleep for awhile." He spoke with a voice so full of tenderness, she didn't see it coming and it disarmed her.

She wanted to defy him, but she couldn't because so much had changed between them. When she reunited with Michael, she looked for opportunities to grate on Sam. She was almost always successful, and for a long time that brought her all sorts of pleasure. Somewhere along the line they bonded and became like brother and sister. While Fiona enjoyed teasing her siblings, she loved them dearly. Over the past six years, she'd come to love Sam just as much as her own flesh and blood, so when he appealed to her to take a break from the craziness in which they found themselves, rather than resist, she obliged.

"Wake us if anything happens."

The dimple appeared on the left side of his face as he smiled. "Oh, you'll be the first to know if anything goes down."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Going through what was left didn't take long; it was just a pain because it was all spread out in the large room. Sam made a pile of the usable items, stacking them on a table. Besides a case of water, a box packed with MREs, and some stray ammunition, flares, flash grenades, and a med kit, the Westen campout was quite bankrupt. Sam went back to his room to straighten up and assess what he still had and what was missing. Several days' worth of clothing lay scattered on the dirty floor, stepped on and kicked around by the raiding party. He picked up each piece, slapped the dirt off as best as he could, and folded everything neatly on his bed. The cargo pants weren't so critical. A little dirt only added character. But his precious shirts, that was a different story. Fortunately for Grey's team, the shirts came out without a tear, just dirty.

Sam finished folding his clothes and put them into his duffel. Then he looked for his toiletry bag. Somehow it wound up in the corner and had been ransacked. A razor and a small bottle of shampoo were all that remained. The bottle came from Elsa's hotel, one of the sample sizes the housekeepers left in the rooms every day. It was a perfect travel size, but the best part was that it always reminded him of her. He sat on the bed, dropped the bag on the mattress, and stared out the window at the distant mountains. Sam opened the bottle and took a hit of the jasmine and vanilla aroma that wafted up from it. Yeah, it was a girly scent, but when he smelled it, he felt like Elsa was with him. Even when he found himself in the middle of a skirmish. It never distracted him, but afterwards, it served as a reminder that he wasn't alone anymore, that someone waited for him.

Elsa, Baby, what are you doing right now? Have you heard the news? Would anyone even bother to tell you, or will we just disappear as if we never existed, leaving you and those we love behind to ask questions without answers?

He slammed the cap down on the shampoo before the cold hooks of loneliness and desire could dig into his flesh. A few drops splashed out and splattered on his fingers. His gut reaction was to rinse it off, but water was at a premium. He wiped it onto his pants and spit rinsed the rest away. Then he smelled like jasmine and vanilla all over, and a sob threatened to break out of him. He held it back. He threw the bottle into the bag, tossed it into his duffel, and dropped onto the sleeping bag that covered the old bed. Paint peeled in large sections from the ceiling. He wondered if it contained lead, and how much of it he wound up ingesting during the night. Maybe that was the excuse for his momentary emotional lapse, a form of lead psychosis. He rolled onto his stomach and rested his head on his folded arms. Sam was so exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"Hey, Sam. Sam, wake up."

"Huh... Fi." Sam squinted at her in the waning light. He turned his shoulders and looked toward the window. It was dusk. "How long was I asleep?" Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he rubbed his eyes.

"About six hours I think. Jesse is ready for a break."

"Six hours? Didn't seem that long." Sam slid off the edge and stood, and he followed Fiona to the room where Grey was being kept. "How's our prisoner doing, Jesse?"

"He's been pretty quiet. I check on him every once in awhile. Last time I looked, he was asleep. That was about a half hour ago."

"Okay. Go get something to eat and relax. I'll take over for the next six hours. Fi you take the next shift, and then Mikey can have the last one before we rotate all over again."

"Sure. How long are we going to have to keep doing this?"

"Until we get on the move or we figure out what to do with Grey," Jesse answered.

"I'd be happy just to take out the trash, but you know, this is up to Mike," Sam declared. He placed his hand on the door knob. "I'll check on him and see how he's doing. You two go on, I've got things covered here."

"Night, Sam. See you in six." Fiona walked away.

"Yeah, yell if you need anything." Jesse waved and walked away.

As night fell it would get darker, making it harder to guard Grey. They had no electricity, and the generator they brought along had been destroyed. A contingency plan including oil lamps would have been nice, but the CIA didn't provide any, so they were stuck in the dark. Some light filtered in from the street lamps, but it wasn't much. Sam entered the room and found Grey on the floor, on his side, and he appeared to be sleeping. On his guard, Sam closed in and reached out to search for a pulse because he couldn't hear him breathing. He touched Grey's skin, and he was sort of relieved to find that it was still warm and that a pulse beat on the underside of his wrist.

Sam heard a sound outside. Not sure what it could be, he moved to the window and looked down. He couldn't see anything. There were no vehicles parked near the building that would tip him off that something wasn't right. It was in his gut, though, that sneaky unsettled sensation. He would probably experience it countless times until the team removed the threat and cleared their names. The only logical conclusion would be for Card to be dead. In Sam's mind, there was no other solution. As long as Card was alive, he could continue the campaign of lies and spread the damage far and wide. He had the power of his position and the money of the federal government behind him, and until they found some resources, the team was helpless against him.

A muted creak of wood caught his attention, and Sam turned just as Grey leaped at him. He put up his gun hand and bashed Grey in the forehead with the butt of his weapon. The blow stunned him for a few moments, enough time for Sam to swing a right hook. The captive dropped with a dull thud onto the floor.

"Thought you could get the drop on me, huh, kid? Think again!" He stuffed the gun into his back waistband and dragged Grey up onto the bed. He grabbed a useless lamp on the night stand next to the bed, pulled out his combat knife, and cut the cord from the fixture. He had plenty of length to wrap up Grey's hands and tie them to the sturdy headboard. He did the same thing with the other lamp on the opposite side and bound his feet to the footboard.

Someone knocked on the half open door. Sam wasn't taking any chances. He held the gun up, aimed at the general direction of the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Sam," Michael answered. "Sorry to have scared you."

"You didn't. I was just being cautious, that's all." He crossed the room to meet his friend at the door. "What's up?"

"I just woke up. I can't believe how long Fi let me sleep." He yawned.

"Sounds like you could use some more."

"I'll only have to wake up in a few hours and switch with you anyway."

Sam tried to see him in the dark, but it was impossible. "Fi's taking next watch."

"Oh."

He found Michael's arm with his hand and clamped on it gently. "It's okay, go back to bed and get some more rest. Is Fi sleeping?"

"More or less." The evasive answer wasn't good enough, and Michael knew it. "She's dozing, fighting sleep." Sam could hear the smile in his voice as he added, "I think she's worried about you."

"Me? Ha! I'm just fine. Grey tried to get the jump on me, but I took him down. He's out now, tied up to the head and footboards with electrical cord. He'll have fun trying to get out of that."

"You did allow for some circulation, didn't you?"

"Gee, I don't know, Mike. Considering I couldn't really see in the dark, who knows?" He sensed what was coming and nipped it in the bud. "It's okay, Mike. It's not like he's gonna lose a hand or a foot or something. It's tight enough to keep him from escaping, but loose enough to keep him from losing a limb. Happy?"

"Not really." Michael sniffed.

Two little words with so much meaning behind them. Michael wouldn't be able to see it, but Sam nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean. What kind of outcome do you want to see for this guy?"

"I want him to face a trial for what he did. I want him to suffer for killing Nate."

"Mike, what if... what if things happen... and it gets tough to keep him alive?"

"He'll make a handy human shield if necessary, but I want to do what I can to bring him home alive."

Sam swallowed back the anger and sadness that thinking about his best friend's brother brought to the surface. "You're better off doing this on your terms, Mike. Why risk some American jury letting him off for some stupid reason?"

"It won't happen." He sounded adamant about that.

"I don't want to get into an argument about it. All I'm asking is that you consider that he's a drain on our resources and will probably make it harder for us to get out of here. Just think about that."

"G'night, Sam."

He couldn't see, but he could feel Michael's presence moving away from him. As he stood in the hallway, his eyes slowly adjusted to the light that came from a busy street below. The bars and cantinas were in full swing yet, and the bright music with a pulsing beat floated up to the broken windows. Michael stopped at the large room and disappeared inside. He heard him rooting around in the things Sam placed on the table. Other than that, it was quiet on the floor.

While he waited for his relief, Sam leaned up against the wall, planted a foot on the vertical surface, and let his fingers roam over the Beretta in his left hand. It was his gun of choice when he didn't need a rifle. He knew every curve and straight edge, every pit and smoothness of the weapon. He could take it apart and put it back together in seconds, in the dark. If he had some gun cleaner, he would have used it. But it wouldn't do to have his gun in pieces and somehow Grey managed to get out of his ties and attack. If Sam could help it, he'd never have that opportunity again.

What time is it? He glanced at the hands of his watch. They still glowed, although the hands were hard to read. In about an hour, Fiona would take over. He was tired again, and his makeshift bunk was calling him. In the morning he would figure out how to contact Barry without tipping off Card as to where they were. Crap, he already knows about this place. We can't stay here anymore.

Sam abandoned his post and ran to the common area. No one was in it except for Michael. He looked up from his meal eaten under lamplight created by three glow sticks. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"Mike, Card probably knows where we are. Brady had to have told him where we set up our command post. Dammit, why didn't we think of this before?"

Michael pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "You're right. I could kick myself for not thinking about that. Go get Jesse up, I'll get Fi, and the two of us will pack up our gear. You and Jesse get your own stuff and Grey. We're taking him along."

"Okay. Can I just say I don't like it? He's tied up all nice and all it would take is a phone call or two..."

"No! We can't trust anyone in the agency anymore." Michael gripped Sam's shirt in his fist. "I've been betrayed for the last time, Sam, and I am not going to fall for their games."

If he pulled any harder, Michael would cut off Sam's ability to breathe. "Okay, Mike." He placed a hand over Michael's fist. "It's okay, I get it. We'll take Grey along, but promise me that if we're in a tight spot and the only way out is to dispense with him, you'll do it."

"Yeah," Michael loosened his grip. "I promise, Sam."

"Good. Okay, let's get out of here and find someplace safer."

"Do you know where that is?" Michael's voice cracked.

"Hell if I know, brother." Sam snorted, then turned serious. "Don't worry, we'll find a place of sanctuary somehow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Jesse, I really hate having to untie him," Sam said as he loosened the cord around Grey's hands, and Jesse took care of his feet.

"I know, but we'll hang onto these just in case." He wound up the cords and stuffed them into one of the equipment bags.

"Alright, get up, Grey." Sam yanked him off the bed and he fell at his feet. "Don't even try to play that game. I'm not in the mood." He pulled on Grey's collar and made him stand.

"I can't feel my feet, man. You tied me up too tight."

"Cry me a river. Get moving." Sam jabbed him with the gun and got him moving. "And while you're at it, make yourself useful and take one of our bags."

"I'm not your freakin' pack mule."

"Sam, ease off on the guy," Jesse urged as he put himself between Sam and Grey. "Come on, man."

"Doesn't it bother you that we have to babysit the guy who wanted to kill Mike? Who killed Nate?"

"We've got more important things to worry about right now. Let's go meet Mike and Fi on the landing." Jesse stayed behind their prisoner while Sam walked to the side and behind, a perfect position to shoot if he made a break for it. Fiona and Michael waited for them with two bags each. Two more sat on the floor for someone to grab.

"Sam, can you take those," Jesse asked. "I'll handle the gun and keep an eye on our friend."

"Sure, why not." He handed Jesse the gun. Thankfully they'd been able to reload it with ammunition that Sam found in the mess left behind. The shotgun was full, and the other handgun was also ready for action. Sam grabbed the two duffel bags left on the floor, and the five moved down the stairs to the ground level.

Outside, they avoided the lively party coming out of the establishments on the other side of the street. Instead, they stuck to the shadows and headed southward. Michael remembered seeing some other abandoned buildings a couple miles away from their base and the building that the F18 destroyed. It required that they move in a different direction, but he hoped that it might throw off anyone who considered using logic to find them. The route took them past an empty field with a chain link fence around it. The fence was grown over with vines and saplings, making it almost impossible to see what lay beyond it.

Taking shelter behind an old tree with a very wide trunk, Michael said, "Sam, do you have the guns?"

"Yeah, Mike. You want one?"

"I'll take the shotgun. Fi?"

"I'll take the 45."

Once the two had their weapons in hand, the group started moving again. The street ran through a residential area. All of the windows in the run-down houses were dark, and some of the street lamps were broken, which made their walk safe and dangerous at the same time. Safe, because it would be hard for a shooter to detect them, and dangerous because a shooter might not be the only law breaker out and about in the middle of the night using darkness as a cover.

Michael scanned both sides of the road as he cradled the shotgun in a position that would allow him to pull it up and start shooting. He thought he saw an ominous shadow, but it was only a branch swaying in the breeze. When he was a kid he'd been afraid of the dark because the oak tree outside his window played games with him. It raked its limbs against the house and the leaves hissed and danced in the shadows that projected onto the wall. One day he threw open the curtains and caught it in the act, and then it wasn't so scary anymore. Nowadays, there were things far scarier that rattled against his nerves, and most of the time, he successfully fought the temptation to fear them. Getting ambushed was always toward the top of his list.

It came softly, silently, that first shot. Grey cried out and collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk. The four targets followed, making themselves smaller and less attractive for picking off. Grey gasped and moaned. His bound hands reached up to the spot where his shirt grew wet.

"I'm hit. I'm hit!"

No one listened, because they were too busy firing back at the direction from which they thought the shot came, or they used Grey as a shield against more bullets. He screamed as a round pierced his leg.

"Somebody help me! Come on!"

The shots slowed and died away, and Michael, Fiona, and Jesse stopped shooting. Sam felt odd without a weapon, but he wasn't concerned. The team held up, and other than Grey, no one got hurt. As far as he could tell.

"How's everybody," Sam asked.

"I'm good," Michael replied.

"Fine," Fiona chimed in.

"I'm okay," Jesse responded.

"I'm not! I'm hit," Gray exclaimed through clenched teeth. His breathing came fast and shallow, and he moaned from the depths of his core.

"Mike, you still have one of those glow sticks," Sam asked.

"I've got all three." Michael pulled them from his pack and held them up to see Grey's injuries. "They're getting pretty dim." He brought the sticks closer to his body and they saw the front of his shirt was almost completely covered in blood.

Sam looked at Michael and shook his head. He didn't have to say anything, because both of them were well versed in battle wounds, and this was one that Grey would succumb to if they didn't get him to a hospital soon. The trouble was that they had no way to call for help and get an ambulance there in time. One last shot cracked and zipped through the humid night air. Grey's body bucked as it hit him and exited out the back. It scraped past Sam's shoe and pinged as it hit the cement.

Michael turned and shot into the darkness. He got up and fired several rounds as he ran across the street.

Sam yelled at him. "Mike! Get back here!"

He didn't slow and stop until he'd emptied the clip. Then he stood on the sidewalk staring into an inky black alley. If whoever took the shot was still there, he was surely a dead man. A breath pushed out of his lungs and he sucked in more fresh air. His shoulders heaved from the adrenaline as much as the exertion. But as the seconds ticked by he remained unharmed, and he knew that whoever took those shots was gone. He heard feet running behind him and he turned to see Fiona standing in the gutter looking up at him.

"Michael, do you realize how dangerous that was? You could have been killed!"

"Yeah." He answered her as if he were waking from a dream, a very bad dream. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Damn straight you weren't," Jesse agreed. "Come on, we've gotta move." He led the two across the street into the shadows where Sam knelt beside Grey's body.

"He's dead, Mike. That last shot took him out. Whoever did this was playing us like a cat with a bunch of mice in his sights. He could have taken us all out with one shot apiece instead of messing around and taking out only one. Grey."

"Maybe he was the target?" Jesse asked. "It could be we're not the only ones who wanted a little payback."

"We don't have time to figure it out." Michael stood over Grey's body. Fierce rage bubbled up within him. He wanted to kick the corpse and make him hurt. He wanted to be the one to shoot him in the end. Sam was right. He should have just taken his revenge and been done with it, but now someone had stolen away his satisfaction and he would never be able to experience the release that such an act would have given him. He shook his head. "We've got to keep moving. Let's go." He used his foot to roll Grey over to his stomach and get him off the sidewalk. Then he picked up his gear and walked with his friends to the next hideout.

* * *

Well, that didn't go as well as I would have liked. Clem ran into the shadows behind the shops and rushed back to his small room above a bodega. He wanted to take them all out after he got rid of the weakest one, the one that was tied up. He wasn't part of Westen's team, but Card made it clear that Tyler Grey needed to go. His usefulness to the CIA had ended. Clem wondered if, when he'd done everything Card asked him to do, he would also be considered ineffective and be executed by a hit squad. Would he even know until the bullet ripped through his chest that he was finished? It was a hazard of the job, something that he'd pretty much reconciled himself to from the day he botched an operation and wound up the only guy left standing.

Until someone took him down, Clem vowed that he would keep on keeping on. He returned his rifle to its hiding place just underneath his mattress. It was still early enough to go out and grab a drink or two, so Clem locked up and headed for his favorite cantina, El Santuario, The Sanctuary. It was the only place where he not only felt safe, but he had a sense of belonging. It was also a great place to brush up on his Spanish so he spoke like a native. Being able to fit in kept him alive another day, and that advantage would help him locate his quarry and finish them off.

Clem picked up his glass and took a sip. He closed his eyes and remembered the sight of his friend Sam in the scope. He had a clean shot, right in the head. He could have, should have, done what he was being paid to do. Picking off Grey first was a good idea. Sure, it would make taking down the others more challenging, but Clem liked challenges. He and Sam always competed in their team to see who could shoot with the most precision. Now he had the opportunity to knock out his rival, who also happened to be his friend. He couldn't forget that. Loyalty ran too deep inside of him, even after all this time. When it came down to it, he had to admit to himself that how he felt about his friend was the only real reason that Westen and his group still breathed. If he didn't want to get killed himself, Clem had to get over that hump and take the shots anyway.

Maybe another glass of courage would help him face what needed to be done tomorrow. Clem knew he should have been following them to see where they laid their heads tonight, but he wasn't worried. He would find them in time. It bought them another day or two to live, and it allowed him to procrastinate and avoid killing some good people who didn't deserve to die.

"Clem, honey, I missed you."

The soft melodic tones of Esmeralda's voice tickled his face along with her sweet breath as she whispered in his ear. "Hi, Esme." She was one of the few people who spoke to him in English.

"Where've you been, Clemmy? I didn't see you earlier." Her arms moved around from his back to his front, and her full lips captured his earlobe and she nibbled on it, not enough to hurt, just be playful.

"I had business to attend to." He moved his head away and she stopped making love to his ear and jawline.

"What's wrong, my sweetheart," she asked. Her cheek pressed against his. "I can tell that something is bothering you."

He let out a deep sigh. Clem would have loved to tell her what troubled him, but if she knew, not only would she be shocked and most likely repulsed, Esmeralda wouldn't be able to handle his life and what he did. What he was supposed to do. She thought he was an author, living in Panama City and writing about it for the people back in the States. He wrote plenty, but now it was surveys on open land for companies considering opening a business in Panama. The occasional spy for hire thing worked out as a nice padding to his meager income. Professional assassin was a new title, and one that he didn't wear with pride. He would have to attend church tomorrow and confession for killing Grey. He wasn't even Catholic, but he hoped that somehow the magic words the priest uttered would take away his sins. It didn't erase the guilt. He worried that guilt was a sign of unforgiven sins, and if it was true, he was in big trouble.

"Come, my love, take me home with you tonight," Esmeralda begged between kisses as she sat in his lap and snaked an arm around his neck.

"No, I can't."

She let out a breath that brushed past his nose and tickled it like a gnat on a warm summer evening. He brushed at it unconsciously, then captured her hand in his as her fingers slipped between the buttons on his shirt. "Why not?"

"Because, I can't." He didn't want to explain the reasons, because there were a lot of things about him that she wouldn't comprehend. All she knew was that he was a great kisser, he enjoyed her company at the cantina, and he bought her drinks when she was on break from serving the others. Other than that, their relationship hadn't really gotten anywhere, and that was the biggest reason over all the others why he wouldn't take her to bed: he liked her, maybe even loved her a little, but not enough to go the distance.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, you're a very attractive woman, Esme." He lowered his voice and added, "I've learned from past mistakes that jumping the gun only leads to heartache. And I like you too much to let that happen."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry, but it's true." Sometimes it drove him to near insanity how he had a set of morals for some things, yet he could turn around and break all sorts of commandments and laws and not bat an eyelash. He was a hypocrite of the worst degree. When he let himself think about it, like tonight, he didn't even want to be around himself. Esmeralda's skirt swished as he pushed her away, and her feet slipped to the floor.

"What is with you tonight? It's like I look at you and I don't know you."

Clem leaned his elbows on the table, slammed down the last of his drink, and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "No, you don't." He looked up at her and met her eyes as he rose out of his chair. He set enough money down to pay for his drinks and her tip. "Esme, you don't know me at all. And if you're smart, you don't wanna know me. I'll only screw up your life."

He staggered sideways, surprised at the loss of equilibrium. He hadn't had that much to drink. Clem was certain of that. He was always careful since his younger days and all the stupid mistakes he made with alcohol and women. As he navigated his way home, he kept self-analyzing. How many drinks did I have? More than I thought? He felt sick, and he didn't make it to his apartment before losing the contents of his stomach in the gutter. It sure tasted a lot better going down. With a swipe of his shirt tail, he was ready to move forward. Another wave of nausea hit him and he bent at the waist.

As he slowly straightened, Clem detected an aftertaste in his mouth that wasn't the garden variety drunk vomit. It was then that he realized the truth. Someone poisoned his drink when he wasn't looking. Maybe someone paid the bartender to spike it. Instinctively, he forced himself to purge his body of the toxins in his stomach. He didn't quit until his stomach ached as if his torso had been pulled in two different directions and nothing more came out of him. He still felt woozy and unsteady on his feet. It would be best for him to get home and crash before he made the concrete his bed that night. In the morning, if he awoke, he would puzzle through who tried to kill him. No way it was Card, unless he had people watching him to make sure he did his job. Killing him would make sense, because in their eyes he didn't complete the job. But he was only beginning. If only he could tell Card that.

* * *

Michael and his team found an unoccupied villa in a slightly better section of the city. It was devoid of all furniture, so they were forced to sleep on the floor. Considering how tired they all were, it wasn't hard to fluff up a duffel full of clothes and use it as a pillow. Since Michael had been allowed a restful sleep at their original HQ, the first in quite a long time, he was fresh enough to take over guarding. He sent Fiona to lay down with Sam and Jesse in the middle of what appeared to be a family room. He armed himself with the shotgun and the Beretta and walked around each room checking for security issues and found none. When he came out of the master bedroom, he didn't expect to see a dark form there. He held up the shotgun pointblank to the figure.

"Hey, Mike, careful! It's just me," Sam said with his hands up in the air. "I guess you didn't hear me calling you."

"Sorry, Sam. What is it?" he lowered the gun.

"We need to talk about something. About Grey."

Michael shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. He's dead and gone."

"Yeah, but... at Nate's funeral, I heard you swear that you would find his killer and kill him. Once we got our hands on Grey, it seemed like you were hell bent on letting him live for a trial. Really, Mike? What happened to killing the killer? Or was Card lying about that, too, that Grey didn't really shoot Nate?"

"I'm convinced that Grey was the shooter. However, I wanted to interrogate him, find out who hired him."

"Card. It's pretty obvious, dontcha think?"

Michael replied, "You know me, Sam. I won't kill someone in cold blood, not like these monsters. I want to be sure I have the right man, and have proof that what they did deserved death."

"Yeah." Sam leaned against the wall and rested his head against it. "What will you do if you find out there's a bigger fish to catch beyond Card?" He leveled his head and looked at Michael in the faint light coming from outside as the dawn slowly developed. "What if it's like Carla, Management, Vaughn, and Anson all over again? You can't keep doing this, knocking down one bad guy after another without an ending. Some day it's gotta stop!"

"I don't know." Michael let out a breath that made Sam think of a balloon, when you blew one up, held the valve, and let it go. As the air released, it sailed all over the room, up and down and round with an indelicate noise until it dropped to the floor completely spent. Michael was like that balloon running out of air and he was ready to drop. Sam thanked God that they were all together, because when it happened, he was certain that Michael would need them all to keep him up.

Seeing that he wouldn't get a good answer out of his friend, Sam said, "It looks like we picked a good safe house, but now we've gotta think about getting some cash and supplies, and what our next move will be. All the while we have to steer clear of our mysterious sniper." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I really hate to say this, Mike, but one of us has to go into town to find a phone we can use to call Barry."

"You and Fi know Spanish. Draw straws."

"No, no way, Mike. You're not seriously thinking of sending Fi into the middle of the city alone, are you?"

Michael smiled. "What's the matter, you don't trust her?"

"I trust her just fine, and I know she can handle herself. I'm just afraid she'll tangle with one, or two or more, of the locals and cause more trouble."

"Fine. Fi and I will go together."

"No, I don't like it. You're the main target, Mike. Walking out there would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Only in this case, the bull is invisible until he decides to show himself."

"Fine." Michael eyed Sam. "You go with her. Besides, you and Barry seem to have a better rapport since you kept him from getting killed by Garret Hartley, so you're the better choice to talk to him." He walked into the family room area, picked up a bottle of water and opened it as he spoke. "I think Fi would lose all patience and tick him off, and then we'd really have a problem." He took a long drink.

"Well, if things don't work out with Barry, I have another plan."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I have this buddy down here. At least, I think he's still down here. The last I heard, my old SEAL teammate Clem Snow was living it up down here somewhere in Panama City. We'd just have to find him, and that won't be too hard. We just search every bar and hole in the ground that serves liquor and beer." Sam grinned. "He'll be there."

"You two had a good relationship?"

"Oh yeah. We were best buddies for awhile." Sam's gaze locked on Michael with a serious expression. "I'd trust the guy with my life, Mike."

"Let's see what Barry can do for us first. It sounds like Clem might be helpful for any local issues..."

"Like this assassin on our tails." Sam smiled. "When we're in the city, I'll look around and see if I can pin him down. Just in case we need him."

"Sounds like a good plan, Sam. Good luck with Barry."


	4. Chapter 4

_I don't normally post three chapters in a day, but by request for those in FL who want to download stories in order to have something to read if internet/electric goes out, I am posting Chapters 4 & 5._**  
**

**Chapter 4**

Fiona wished that this wasn't a life or death mission. As they passed through an open air market, she eyed the colorful clothing and accessories for sale among fruit and vegetable stands that were equally bursting with life. She could have spent hours there, but she had a job to do. She was on the lookout for a public phone. Sam was looking into every bar and cantina they passed, asking the bartender if he knew a guy named Clem Snow. So far, they'd had no luck on either front.

"Sam, we need to take a break. I need a drink."

"We've got water along." Sam replied as his head moved slowly from side to side searching both the north and south sides of the street. "Unless you have some cash on you, or you see an ATM and you have access with a card, we're out of luck, sister."

She mumbled something under her breath and cracked open one of the bottles that she extracted from her large bag. She took a long swig, backhanded her mouth, and stopped in her tracks. "Sam." He was already several steps ahead, and his attention was on another bar. "Sam!" She bit her tongue, suddenly realizing how dangerous it could be to say his name so loud. Instead, she hurried to catch up to him and whispered when she was beside him. "Sam, I found a phone. It's in that coffee shop over there, but I don't have any change. Do you?"

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. "Unfortunately, all I've got is a few quarters, and they're American. We never had time to do an exchange of our money, and I've got maybe fifty bucks right now." He squinted down at her. "What have you got?"

"I have at least forty dollars. I thought that when we run out of supplies we might be able to use it to buy more."

"I think the idea was that we'd pool our resources, what little we have. But we need Barry to get us some serious cash so we can work on getting out of here."

"And so we're back to square one." Fiona pulled on the money clip Sam held in his hands and a ten dollar bill slipped out. She smiled wide, turned on her heel, and hurried into the coffee bar.

"Hey, why couldn't we use your..." Sam halted himself as he stared off into the distance. He couldn't believe his eyes. He muttered, "Snowbird."

Sam hadn't seen him in almost twenty five years. The guy who sat at a small round table in the next bar over, a cramped little place called La Santuario, looked a lot like Clem Snow, only older. His short, brown hair, still in a military style cut, was going gray and his face bore more wrinkles and scars than Sam remembered, but the piercing ice blue eyes were unmistakable. He'd kept in shape, sporting the big biceps he had in his younger days, only not quite so large. As he sipped on his beer, Clem's favorite brand, he gazed out at the world with tension on his face, like he used to look when they were on a mission. His eyes moved constantly, searching for something.

"Sam."

"What, Fi?"

"I got us the use of the phone." Fiona smiled. "Come on, you're holding up things here!" She grabbed his elbow and steered him into the coffee bar. All the while, Sam kept his eye on Clem. He didn't want to lose him. He didn't have another twenty five years to wait to find him again.

Sam dialed Barry's number and it rang several times. "Come on, Barry. Be there. Pick up."

"Did you try his cell phone or..." She stopped talking when Sam held up a hand.

"Hey, Barry, it's Chuck Finley."

"Chuck!" The alias must have shaken him for a moment, but Barry was wise. "Hey man, how are you? I heard you and your buddies had a little trouble and you're south of the border." He paused, shuffled some papers, and asked, "Where are you, Mexico? South America?"

"Panama."

"Ohhh, Panama. Beautiful place, Chuck. So, what are you doing there?"

"Trying to stay alive right now, Bare. We need access to some cash. Enough to get us out of the country." As he spoke, Sam kept his voice low so the other patrons didn't hear. Fiona kept the barista busy at the other end of the counter. "Things went bad here, and there's someone trying to kill us. We need to get back to Miami as soon as possible."

"I can wire some money to a mailbox place down there. It's on La Isla Brava Street. Right next to a place called the Blue Parrot. How much do you need?"

"Twenty Gs."

"Are you serious? You know I'm loaning this to you guys. You have to pay me back, and if you get killed..."

"Thanks, Barry, for being worried about our well-being." Sam's words came out in a caustic tone.

"Aw man, Sa...Chuck. I'm sorry. Okay, okay, I'll get you twenty grand but that's a lot to wire to the mailbox place. I'll have to send it to a bank."

Sam scanned the street that he could see from where he sat. "There's a Banco de Unidad just down from where we are. We're on Conquistador Street."

"Okay, I'll get that wired in a matter of minutes."

"I'll give you ten."

"Fifteen."

"Okay. Thanks, Barry. We'll pay you back when we return home. I promise."

"I suppose if you don't, I really kind of owe you yet for saving my bacon with that nifty tub trick. Although, my client was pretty upset about his house blowing up. It was all I could do to convince him that it was an accident, until he found out about the charge that took out the wall." Barry sighed. "Let's just say I found a new place for my sensitive materials."

"Sorry about that. Anyway, this money is the only way we're getting out of here, so thanks for your help. You're a lifesaver, man."

"Any time, pal."

Sam hung up the phone. "Okay, I'm done. Thanks for letting us use the phone."

"Not a problem, Senor." The barista barely looked at Sam. His eyes were on Fiona giving him sweet smiles and her eyes blazed with flirtations.

"Hey, come on. We've gotta go." Sam gently pulled on Fiona's arm and dragged her out of the coffee shop as she waved goodbye to the man. "Fi, will you knock it off? Good thing Mike wasn't here!"

"Oh, Sam," she huffed and pulled out of his grip. "I was just playing distraction for you. That's all!"

"Fine." He changed his gears to other subjects. Standing at the curb, Sam nodded toward the large building with large stone columns. "Barry should have twenty grand wired to that bank in about fifteen minutes." He turned his head to look up the street. "And I saw Clem, my buddy, sitting in that cantina over there. Since we have a few minutes to kill, let's go over there and say 'hi'."

* * *

The last thing Clem expected to see that morning was his old buddy Sam Axe walking toward him with that chick from last night. Fiona Glenanne, that's what Card said her name was. She looked harmless enough, although he'd known some dangerous beauties over the years. As Sam got closer, Clem noted the smile on his face. Even with the several days' growth of scruff, that smile took years off of him and it was as if time had rolled back to the last time they'd seen each other. He couldn't think about that. He had to concentrate on the job he was supposed to do. How could he do it if he talked to him again?

Clem wanted to slip out the back when a cart loaded with melons crossed in front of Sam and his companion, effectively cutting off their view of him. It was a perfect distraction. Yet he couldn't make his legs push him up out of his chair. He decided that at the moment he wanted to see Sam more than he wanted to kill him, and he'd deal with the remorse later after the job was done. A slow grin crossed his face, and when Sam and Fiona were only a few feet away, he set his beer down and got up from the table.

"Sammy. What are you doing here, man?" He closed the distance between them, spread his arms wide, and took him in for a hug. Sam reciprocated, and it made him feel good. He'd either forgotten, or forgiven, the mistake that Clem made that nearly cost him his life.

"Snowbird, it's great to see you," Sam responded, squeezed him tight, and then released him, but his hands still gripped his friend's upper arms. "I couldn't believe it. I thought I was imagining things when I saw you over here."

"It's me! Just hanging out, enjoying my golden years."

"You make it sound like you're ready to die." Sam laughed. "I think you've got plenty of years left, buddy."

"I hope so." His eyes slipped to Fiona who stood to the side watching with a mild fascination in her eyes and a smile on her lips. "Hi there, I'm Clem Snow. Sammy and I go way back." He reached out and met her hand with his in the space between them. He was impressed with her grip. She was a girl who worked with her hands, but she still felt like a woman. "This your girlfriend, Sammy?"

"Ho, no, Snowbird." Sam chuckled. "If you only knew how funny that is! Ow!" He glared at Fi after she jabbed him in the ribs. "This is Fiona Glenanne. Her boyfriend is my best friend."

Clem's eyebrow raised and he asked, "Hey, you have time for a beer?" He already knew the answer to that one, if Sam was still the same man he knew from long ago.

"Maybe one. We're waiting for something."

"Dos cervezas, por favor!" Clem called across the nearly empty cantina. Esmeralda was working, and she gave him a cool look before nodding and getting the beers from a refrigerated case.

The three sat at the table. Clem couldn't stop grinning, although inside guilt assaulted him like a double edged blade slicing deep and causing his soul to bleed. He should have excused himself and run, but he needed to do this. He might learn something valuable to make his job easier later.

"So, what have you been up to all this time," he asked Sam, forcing back the anxiety.

The beers arrived, and Sam opened his as he answered. "A lot of classified stuff. Then I got discharged and dumped in Miami and was pretty much on cruise control until my old buddy Mike got me involved in his crazy life. Now I'm dealing with classified crap again." He grinned.

Clem laughed and shook his head. "You're something else, Sammy. Then again, I never pictured you as the kind to settle down, get married, have kids, and all that."

"Neither were you."

"You got that right." He took a long drink, set his bottle down, and crossed his arms on the table. "I've been holed up here for about ten years now. Don't know why. Maybe it was fate, or God, or whatever. I just know after my last mission I couldn't go home. So I hitched a few rides, wound up in Panama City, and stayed."

Sam looked at him with a serious expression. "What happened with your last mission?"

"Can't really talk about it with her here," Clem replied with an apologetic nod toward Fiona. "Bottom line is I screwed up. I didn't listen to one of my subordinates, went with my gut, and it was wrong." He took a swig of his beer and grimaced as he drained it. He held up an arm and within seconds a full bottle appeared in front of him. "I was the only guy who made it out. I lost every single man in my team, Sammy. It was a freakin' miracle that I survived. I shouldn't be here."

Sam empathized with his friend. He'd lost team members before, and it was never easy. "Sorry, Clem. You know that's how it goes sometimes."

"Like it did in Tel Aviv?" A hardness flashed in Cal's eyes. "If I hadn't listened to that woman, that double agent..."

Sam kept his tone even. "You didn't know she was a double agent until afterwards. Hindsight is twenty-twenty."

Clem shook his head vehemently, unable to accept Sam's rationalizations. "It doesn't change the fact that my stupidity could have killed you. When they put you on that chopper, I thought that was it, that I'd never see you again. I wanted to go back to the States and see you at Bethesda when I found out you made it, but they wanted to send me on another mission." He flapped a hand in the air. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

"What happened after Tel Aviv?" Sam leaned in closer with an intensity in his eyes. He wanted to learn more about how his friend was affected by that mission.

Guilt sucker punched him in the gut. After all this time, Sam was still concerned about him. He could see it in his eyes that he hurt for him, and Clem knew he had no business being the subject of such care. He'd fallen for the woman, hard, and he let her get under his skin and use him. He told her things he shouldn't have, and he put his entire team in jeopardy. It was only through the grace of God that they all made it out alive, although Sam hung by a thread. Until he got him shot up, Clem felt like Sam was his brother, but after that inexcusable mistake, sleeping with the enemy quite literally, he didn't feel worthy of being his brother, friend, or anything else.

"Clem? Where'd you go after Tel Aviv?" Sam's brow furrowed as he said, "I wanted to find you after I got out of the hospital, but I couldn't get any information out of anybody."

"After Tel Aviv, I was done."

"You didn't go AWOL, did you?" Sam looked at him sideways.

"No. I got out legitimately. I think after the psych evaluation they decided I was too big a risk. They gladly discharged me." He snorted. "Just like that, I was done. Surprised the heck out of me when the CIA came knocking on my door."

"You were CIA?" Fiona asked, surprise on her face.

Clem snickered. "Yeah, I don't really look the type, do I? I resisted for awhile, took some time wandering around the world. Then I caved. I don't really want to talk about it any more than that."

Fiona rested her chin on her hand. "Do you ever want to go home?"

The corner of Clem's mouth twitched up into a reluctant smile. "Maybe. If I did, I sure wouldn't go back to my hometown. Nothing's the same anymore, and I'm not who I was when I left. Why do you ask?"

Sam answered him. "Well, we're trying to get back to Miami. We..." He hesitated, then leaned in closer. "I wouldn't tell you this, Snowbird, except for the fact that I trust you. I know you'll keep your mouth shut."

Clem leaned forward and frowned, his conscience stabbing him again. How he could sit there and let Sam speak to him in confidence while he struggled with whether or not to fulfill his mission of killing him and his friends, it was beyond all logic. "You put a lot of faith in me, my friend. I haven't felt that trustworthy in a long time."

Sam laid a hand on his arm and gave him a melancholy smile. "You always were good at beating yourself up for your mistakes." He patted the arm and continued. "Anyway, Fi and I came down here with my buddy Michael Westen and another member of our team, Jesse Porter. We were on the trail of a guy who shot and killed Mike's brother Nate."

"Who did that?"

"A guy named Tyler Grey. We wanted to take him back to the States with us, but last night, he was shot and killed by a sniper. He was our ticket to blowing things up for Tom Card."

It was all he could do to keep from cursing out loud. He kept his emotions in check and asked. "Card? What's he done?"

"A lot of bad stuff. He needs to go down, and Grey was our last hope. Now, we just wanna get home and survive until we can figure out another way to get Card locked up."

"You really think you can do that?" Clem took another long drag of his beer. "Sam, that man has power. More power than anyone in his position should have!"

"I know." He glanced at Fiona.

An idea was forming in his friend's head, and Clem could guess what it was. He'd known Sam for too long.

Sam turned back to Clem and asked, "Would you like to help us?"

God, why are you turning the knife inside of me? It was all he could do to keep the agony from showing on his face. "Me? Why would I wanna stick my neck out and try to get Card?"

"I don't know. I have this feeling that you have some connection to him. Every time his name comes up, you get kind of antsy." He smiled. "I've known you for too long, Snowbird. Every nuance of your body language tells me that there's something going on. You can trust me, you know that. So just spill it." His smile widened. "They say confession is good for the soul."

Sam always knew how to push his buttons. Sometimes he hated him for it. Sometimes he loved him for it. Taking a deep breath, he spoke. "Okay, but you're not gonna like this. Card hired me to kill Michael Westen, you, Fiona, and your friend Jesse. And Tyler Grey. He knew you survived the attacks, and he wanted you all dead to silence you."

Fiona and Sam gaped at him, and Sam paled. "Seriously? You shot Grey?"

"Yeah." Clem couldn't look at him.

"Crap. I should have known. You're probably the only one around for miles who could have made those shots in that kind of light."

"I'm sorry." He bowed his head and stared into his empty bottle, trying so hard to keep his emotions in check. He swallowed hard a few times, but once the confession began, he couldn't stop it. He looked up at his friend, turned his eyes toward Fiona, and hoped that maybe keeping his attention on her would make it easier. "Tyler Grey didn't shoot Nate. He was just a pawn in Card's game. He supplied the rifle, and I did it. I took out Anson and that other guy, Nate, and I am so sorry about that. Anson was my only target." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Sammy. It seems like I can't do anything but screw up my life, time and time again."

It took Sam a few moments to get his voice. "The person you should be apologizing to is Mike, but I don't think you should get within ten feet of him and admit what you did, not unless you want to die." Sam let out a deep breath and stood. "Fi, we've gotta get going, pick up that cash, and find a way out of here."

Clem's head snapped up, and he stood before Sam. "Please, let me help you with that."

"You're supposed to be killing us. How do I know..."

Losing Sam's trust couldn't have been more painful if he'd been shot through the heart. He'd never broken down before him, and certainly never in public, so it took every bit of his strength to not do it now. "Sam." Clem's voice came out in a whisper. "Please, please believe me when I tell you that there'll be no more killing. I won't complete my assignment. You and your friends have nothing to fear from me."

Sam pursed his lips, glanced at Fiona, and back to Clem. "A part of me is thinking I'm crazy, but I've trusted you for too long to doubt you now. What can you do to help us?"

"Let's start by going over to the Banco de Unidad. I have an account there."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Between Barry's wired money and Clem draining his account, the team could easily afford a clandestine flight out of the country back to Miami. The three split the cash up among themselves for safer keeping. Sam felt a prick of his conscience for hesitating in giving Clem his portion. He shouldn't have let his friend's admission taint his trust. They'd been through too much together. Contrary to Clem's insistence, he wasn't a screw up. Everyone made mistakes, and his just happened to be the kind that bit back hard. For that, and his seemingly fervent desire to make things right, Sam couldn't fault him.

As they walked down the street away from the bank and toward the safe house, Clem decided it was time for another confession. "Sammy, just so you know, I have another reason to help you. I have to get out of here myself. Last night, after I killed Grey but not the rest of you, someone tried to poison me."

"What?" Sam halted in his tracks and turned to Clem. "How do you know?"

Clem told Sam and Fiona how sick he got on the way home, and that he spent the night in agony. "I'm operating on only a few hours of sleep here. It probably wasn't too smart of me to go back to the place where I got poisoned, but I figured the beers were safe. They always serve them with the caps on, you know?"

Sam reached out and touched his friend's arm. Clem trembled, whether from fear, lack of sleep, or alcohol withdrawal, he had no idea. All he knew was that this was his friend and he needed help. "Okay, don't worry. We'll protect you. Won't we, Fi?"

"As long as Michael doesn't kill you for what you did to Nate... and Grey... everything will be fine."

Clem turned wide eyes on her. "And what about you? Do you want to kill me too?"

"Clem, I know what it's like to live with the desire for revenge burning inside you. It eats you up and makes you angry. But we're in survival mode now, and we have no time for such things. I'll talk to Michael, but in the meantime, we should all keep quiet about your involvement with Nate's death." She paused and looked around before adding a final thought. "Sam may trust you, but for me, I'm still unsure. If you do anything that remotely looks like you're betraying us, you won't have to worry about Michael killing you." She gave him a smile that said she wasn't kidding. "I'll do it myself."

Clem gulped. The crazy look in her eyes led him to believe that she could be quite dangerous if crossed. He nodded to her. "You have my word, Fiona, I'm on your side."

"And I'll have you know that I'm not comfortable keeping secrets from Michael. We've had far too many of those between us over the years. But in this case, if we want to get out of here, we don't need the distraction."

"I think Mike finding out you want to take down Card and the fact that I can vouch for you will help smooth things over. He can be wary of people he doesn't know."

With a shaky smile, Clem declared, "He would be a lousy CIA operative if he wasn't. I should know."

"Okay, our hideout is just down this street. Let's see what Mike and Jesse have been up to while we were gone." Sam led them to the plain stucco house and knocked on the door.

Footsteps thumped on the other side, and soon the door was unlocked and opened. Jesse looked at them and gave extra attention to Clem. "Who's this guy?"

"Clement Snow, ex-Navy SEAL and ex-CIA," Sam announced. "He's an old buddy of mine. We were on the same SEAL team for a few years." Sam paused when he heard other footsteps. Michael's head appeared around Jesse. "Hey, Mikey! This is my friend, Clement Snow. Clem, this is Michael Westen and Jesse Porter."

Recovering first, Clem held out his hand toward Michael and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Westen. I heard a lot about you from Tom Card." In an instant, he could see that was the wrong way to begin.

A stormy expression crossed Michael's face, and he struggled with a rage building inside him. "What do you know about him?"

Sam looked around. The neighborhood was quiet, but he had a feeling that things were going to get loud really fast. "Hey, let's take this inside, shall we?" He gently pushed Clem forward and ushered Fiona inside before squeezing past Jesse and Michael. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said to his friend, "Mike, just listen to him. He's a friend. A really good friend, and he's going to help us get out of here."

Fiona came back as she heard Sam talking to Michael. "The man drained his account to help us. The least you can do is listen to him!"

"Okay. Let's go sit down. Jesse and I were just about to have some lunch."

After selecting an MRE and a bottle of water, the five sat in a circle in the middle of the family room and tore into the packets. Clem, however, sat with the packet in his lap and his head bowed. Everyone stared until he raised his head.

"What?"

"Are you okay," Michael asked, his eyes showing concern but still wary.

"Yeah, just fine. I was praying."

"Amen. These things need all the help they can get," Fiona muttered as she stuck a fork in what the package said was spaghetti.

"They're better than what we started out with in the Army," Michael declared as he dug into his meal. He wouldn't even venture to guess what it was, and he wasn't about to look at the label for fear of having his expectations dashed.

"Sometimes it helps to think about what we ate in El Salvador. Remember that, Clem, when we were captured by that cartel? They held us for what, a week or two, and the food, what little they fed us, wasn't fit for a dog."

"Oh man, I tried to forget. Thanks for reminding me again, pal." Clem slapped Sam on the back. "Yeah, you learn to appreciate MREs after something like that."

As they ate, Michael quizzed Clem on his past and his relationship with Sam. He was pleased that Clem was eager to talk about the time the two served together, as long as it was unclassified information, until the point where the mission went bad and Sam was nearly killed. Sam himself corroborated everything Clem said, so by the time Michael had no more questions, he felt more confident that Clem Snow was a man who could be trusted.

"He withdrew all his money from the bank, Mike." Sam told him as if his friend needed more convincing. "We're not the only ones on the run."

"Why would anyone want you dead?"

It was time to come clean. He glanced at the faces turned toward him. In Sam's he saw an encouragement to just get it out there, and he would do what he could to soften the blow. Fiona waited to see if his story would ring true again, or if he would change it, proving it to be a lie. Jesse and Michael had no clue, so they waited with curiosity.

"Card wants me dead now too, because I didn't finish the assignment he gave me."

"I thought you didn't work for the CIA anymore." Michael's eyes turned stormy again.

"I don't. But apparently, Card decided to look me up to do this one thing for him. Since I was down in Panama, and he was paying me good money, he figured I'd be good to do it. He wanted me to kill you all and Tyler Grey."

Somehow, Michael kept the hot rage out of his voice. "How much did he pay you?"

"Everything I had in my account, thirty grand. The very money that was to have brought about your deaths will now be used to save your lives." He chuckled. "How poetic."

Michael dropped his head into his hands as he fought to keep his voice even. What he wanted to do was cross the floor and strangle the guy for taking away his opportunity for revenge, but it wasn't just his fault. Michael knew he should have gone with his gut instinct and taken him down himself. "You shot Grey?"

"Yes, I did. I'm sorry, Michael. If I'd known you wanted to kill him yourself, I would have left him alone." Strangely enough, he meant it.

Still reeling from this news, Michael asked, "Why did you spare us? Why didn't you do the job? It would have been so easy to take us all down."

"I know." Clem swallowed the last of his water, then turned his attention back to Michael. "I had Sam in my sights, and I just couldn't do it. I owe this guy too much," he said as he pointed toward his friend. "Sure, I could have shot the rest of you, but I couldn't do that either. I was going to wait for another day, when I got up the courage. Thank God I didn't do it."

Michael struggled between disbelief and awe. He recalled Sam talking about his friend Clem a few times over the years, and if his reputation was accurate, they should have all been dead, dropping one after another onto the pavement in a matter of seconds. "Why do you want to get Card?"

"Michael, you know my life is over if I don't complete my assignment. Hell, it's over if I do. Once the agency is finished with you, you don't have much of a shelf life. You know that better than anybody." Clem gazed at him with an amazed look. "You're like the stuff of legends, man. Michael Westen, the burned spy who survived."

"Well, we're not going to survive if we don't get out of here." Michael responded by changing the subject in an attempt to get the spotlight off himself.

Sam tired of picking at his MRE. He dropped it in front of him on the tile floor and turned to Clem. "Hey, do you know if Skip still has that seaplane?"

"Aw Sam, that thing crashed years ago into the sea. Skip made it out okay, though." Clem turned to his new friends and explained. "Skip Newman was another guy on our SEAL team. He had an old seaplane that was from the 40s or something. It was a real piece of art, not just a plane. But it finally flew its last flight about six years ago. He's got a newer model now."

"Great. Do you think you could hire him to transport us to Miami," Michael asked.

"Oh yeah, as long as he's not hauling tourists all over the place. He's got a business of flying people between Costa Rica, Mexico and Panama, places like that. He flies a more scenic path, so some people prefer it to the airlines."

"You know how to get a hold of Skip," Sam asked.

"Yah, you know I do!" He pulled out a cell phone and everyone's eyes widened. He noted their concern and held it up. "Hey, don't worry! I picked up this burner phone today. I got rid of my other one so Card can't use it to triangulate me. Which reminds me. I'm going to have to leave everything behind, unless we can get back to my place under cover of darkness. I've got some good hardware and ammo that might come in handy. Who knows?"

Michael said, "I'm hoping we won't have any trouble between here and our flight out."

Jesse spoke as he stood and worked out the stiffness in his legs. "Sam, I think our new friend here should contact your buddy Skip, arrange the flight, and then we worry about what we're taking and prepare to leave."

Clem got in touch with Skip and set up the flight. In the meantime, the others readied themselves to leave that evening. Sam took a nap. Jesse dozed now and then against the small pile of bags assembled in the middle of the room. Fiona and Michael sat on the back porch and talked in soft tones, and no one dared to bother them. Clem assumed she was trying to pave the way to make things less rocky for when he had to ultimately admit to Michael that he shot Nate. But that wasn't the worst of it, because he left out the part that Nate was a target as well, but until now he hadn't figured out why. By taking away his family, Card hoped to completely control Michael. The bile rose in his throat when he thought about how that living breathing slime manipulated people. It would be a great pleasure to take part in his death, and he'd be hard pressed to ask forgiveness for that one. He was taught that you had to be sorry to be forgiven. With Card's assassination, there would be no remorse. It would be justice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Fiona knew Michael was still unsettled about Clem joining their band. She was too, but time would tell if he was trustworthy or not. If only she had a dollar for every time they trusted someone and they turned out to be less than what they appeared to be, or completely betrayed them, she would be rich. This time she knew that Clem could possibly turn on them, but there was a sense of good in him and a desire to set things right. She hoped his need for redemption outweighed any orders he might have had from Card. Knowing that Clem was responsible for Nate's death ate at Fiona, and it was all she could do to keep from telling Michael. The only thing that stopped her was knowing how much it would hurt him to reopen that wound, and how his reaction might put them in further jeopardy. If they created a ruckus that alerted the neighbors and someone called the police, they would be in even more serious trouble.

He sat alone on the porch staring toward the tree lined back yard. The sun filtered through the leaves that swayed in the breeze, creating patterns on the grass. At the sound of the sliding glass door, he turned his head slightly, saw her, and gave her a weak smile. "Fi."

"Michael." His name came out like a sad song. She hadn't meant to do that, but she couldn't help expressing her distress.

"You feel as uneasy about this as I do, apparently."

Fiona sat next to him on the step, wrapped her arms around one of his, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "This whole situation is a living nightmare. I'm tired. I want it to be over."

"Me too. Right now I would give anything for a normal life." He looked down at her and placed a light kiss on her forehead at her hairline. "I'd like to be one of those guys who has a boring nine to five job, cuts the lawn on the weekend, does all those normal mundane things that guys do."

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself," she responded with a small snort. "You've been at this game for far too long, and you wouldn't last a week in domestic bliss. It's true."

A small laugh escaped. "You're right. What was I thinking?" He sighed deeply, pulled his arm out of her grip, and put it around her. The other rested outstretched on his knee. "Maybe I just need some time to decompress a little and figure out what to do next. But that's not gonna happen until we nail Card. And I don't know how we're going to do that. My head is spinning, Fi. And on top of all this, I have to worry about this Snow guy. Is he really all he says he is, or is he snowing us all?"

Fiona let the pun slip by. "All we can do is keep an eye on him." She sat up straighter against Michael's side. "Clem said he worked for the CIA. Have you ever heard of him before?"

"No. But that doesn't mean anything. He could have been a freelancer. If I had access to CIA records, I could find out a lot more." His spine stiffened and he snapped his fingers. "When we get to Miami, I'll get in contact with Pearce and see what she can tell me."

"But she's off in..."

"I know." He glanced at Fiona. "She gave me a way to contact her, just in case something happened. If she can tell me who Clem really is and what he's about, then we either accept him as part of our team, or..."

"Michael," Fiona whispered. "This is Sam's friend! It sounds like they were best friends in the military. Do you really think that Sam will let you hurt him?"

"I don't know. I thought Sam was my best friend. Maybe I need to reconsider that if he's willing to bet that a guy he hasn't seen in a quarter century is the same guy he left back in Tel Aviv. You know as well as I that time changes people. I think Sam is letting his friendship blind him. He's too loyal sometimes."

Fiona gave him a hard look. "You should thank God that he's been so loyal to you, Michael. And what about me? We both could have walked away a long time ago, but we're still here." She calmed herself with an even breath. "Maybe you need to look at yourself and your inability to trust those who have proven themselves to you time and again. If you really consider Sam your best friend, you have to believe that he knows what he's doing."

"I've trusted too many people, the wrong people. I can't help but wonder where I'd be right now if I'd been smarter that way."

"Let's concentrate on where we need to go, not where we've been. In a few hours we must get to the seaplane and leave here. I'll worry about the logistics for making that happen. You worry about where we'll go when we get to Miami, because we certainly can't return to the loft or your mom's. They'll be watching for us."

"I know. We'll have to find someplace abandoned and dig in for awhile. If I can get a hold of Pearce, maybe she'll have some intel or resources that will help us with Card." He rubbed his eyes and rested his head on the heel of his hand. "I think we'll have to go to DC in the end. Get him on his turf."

"Let's wait to see what we have first. In the meantime, what do you intend to do about Clem?"

Michael shrugged. "Not much I can do. I trust him tentatively and keep an eye on him. If I see any sign that he's turning on us, I can't guarantee he's going to be around much longer."

She nodded. Fiona didn't like it, but she understood. In the field, a traitor could kill the entire team with his actions. Better to eliminate him before he gave them away.

When darkness fell, the team slipped across town to Clem's apartment. He'd gone up with Sam to pick up his weapons, a small bag of clothes, and a couple mementos. He gave his little studio apartment a quick adieu and locked it for the last time. The two hurried down the back stairs into the shadows in the alley.

With a hushed voice, Clem said, "Okay, I'm all set. Now let's get out of here!"

"Are you sure you want to do this? It seems like you were kind of happy here," Michael said. He secretly hoped that Clem would change his mind and then he wouldn't have to worry about whether he was a risk or not.

"Yeah, except for a bar tab that I owe on for today, there's nothing keeping me here."

"Okay. Let's go then." Michael led the way out of the alley and down the streets toward a waiting pickup truck. Fiona sat in the driver's seat. The vehicle was old, rusty, and smelled of farm animals, but it was the biggest thing she could find. Michael sat beside her in the cab, and Jesse, Sam, and Clem got into the bed with their gear.

Clem's directions to the bay were perfect and kept them away from the more concentrated centers of the city. Fiona parked the truck near the shoreline. Everyone got out and grabbed bags to haul to the airplane.

Skip Newman stood on the pier waiting for them, smoking his last cigarette. When Clem called and said he needed a flight back to the States, he figured that something covert was up, or Clem was in big trouble. When he saw Michael Westen with his friends, he knew trouble was only the tip of the iceberg.

"Snowbird. Good to see you man." He gaped when he saw Sam. With a reverent tone, he came forward and shook his hand. "Axeman, long time no see."

"Same to you, Skip. Nice to see you. Too bad it's not under better circumstances."

"Yeah." He glanced around when he heard a motor. "That sounds like the coast patrol. We better get a move on. You can stuff your gear back there," Skip said as he indicated the cargo hold behind the seats. "I can seat four in back, and one of you will have to sit up front with me."

"I'll sit up front," Clem offered.

"Alright. As soon as you're all settled, we're off."

After quick introductions, the bags flew into the back hold. Sam and Jesse took the very last seats, while Michael and Fiona took the two in front of them. Skip closed the door and made sure it was tight before getting into the cockpit. Clem hopped into the seat to his right.

"It's going to be loud, just so you know. It won't be so bad once we're in the air," Skip shouted over the propeller nose.

As the seaplane picked up speed to take to the air, it hopped over the small waves in the bay. Michael leaned over and said to Fiona, "Well, I guess now we know why his nickname is Skip."

Sam heard and leaned forward. "No, it's actually because we knew he'd make Captain before anybody else. And he did, too. He's a natural born leader. And, despite the waves, he's a great pilot." As he spoke, the airplane rose and lost contact with the water. He looked down and saw the patrol boat. A few more minutes and they might have been stopped. An air current took the airplane up abruptly, but Skip compensated and settled them into a gentle rise.

"Hey, did anybody ask Skip what our flight plan was," Jesse asked.

"He's taking us right to Miami, Jess, which means we've got a lot of water to fly over." Michael glanced at him in the dim light coming from the instrument panel. "What's the matter? Afraid we won't make it?"

"No, just wondering, that's all." He settled back into his seat.

"Relax, Jesse!" Skip shouted back to him. "It's about seven hours skirting around north Cuban airspace. If I go south it's shorter, but I'd get a lot of static from the Jamaicans and the Haitians. Less hassle this way."

"That's not too bad."

"You might as well try to take a nap back there, friend," Skip said with a laugh.

"Not a bad idea." Jesse found some noise dulling headphones tucked in a pocket between his seat and the bulkhead. He put them on, and they made it easier to drown out the engine whine.

Sam tried it himself and leaned back against his seat. It was hard to find a comfortable position. His legs were cramped, and he wondered how Jesse handled it with his longer legs. At that moment, Jesse turned in his seat and stretched over to Sam's side. Sam pushed his legs back with his own. Jesse resisted, and Sam pushed harder.

"Hey, man, whatcha doing?" Jesse woke up, unfurled his crossed arms, and blinked at Sam.

"You're trying to take up my space, Jesse. It's cramped enough as it is!"

"Oh. Sorry." He folded himself up into the small space again, but he slept fitfully after that.

Sam didn't sleep much better, so he had no reason to feel guilty for forcing Jesse back on his own side. He realized that it was a lost cause to try to get any real rest on the plane, so he opened his eyes and looked down on the black ocean below. To the far right, faint lights twinkled in a sporadic line along a coast. After studying it awhile, he determined that it had to be Cuba. In confirmation, Skip turned the plane left and gave them a wider berth around the large island nation. The last thing they needed was to get intercepted by the Cubans. If anyone asked, Sam would never admit to visiting the country. But in reality, he and Clem had both been there as part of a team, and it was as far from a vacation as you could get. The mission was still classified. There were people who could maybe identify them, though. No, it would not be good to visit there again.

Two hours later Cuba was at their tail and to the left were the Florida Keys. Key West sparkled like a big diamond, and the smaller keys showed little blips of light, some more than others. In another hour or two they would land in Miami, and after that, where they went was anybody's guess. Everyone knew abandoned places that might make a good safe house. It all depended upon what kind of transportation would be available once they made land.

Up front, Skip's radio crackled. He flipped a switch and spoke into the mic. He was concerned, and it showed on his face in the glow from the panel. He covered the mic and said something to Clem, who grabbed the other headset and listened in.

Clem turned to face the others. "We're getting chatter from Cuba," he declared over the engine noise. "They're threatening us for entering their air space, but Skip says we're clearly outside of it in American territory. He didn't file an official flight plan, so we're risking being called out by Homeland Security when we get closer to the keys."

"Either way we might get shot down," Michael said.

"Exactly. So hang on kids!"

The left wing dipped and the craft turned to the north. More chatter came from the radio, and Skip replied in Spanish to the voice on the other end. Michael and Fiona clasped each other's hand between the seats, their eyes wandering to meet now and then while they strained to hear. Fi could always translate for Michael if necessary. But he didn't need a translator to tell him that whoever was on the other side of that radio was angry, and if they didn't make an evasive move quick enough, the Cuban Air Force would shoot them down. Never mind that the hostile nation's jets would be in the wrong airspace. The planes could easily be there and gone before anyone in the States lifted a finger to do anything about it.

Card had to have known somehow. Probably had someone following us in Panama and bided his time until we were almost home. Using the Cubans for his own dirty deeds was a new low. He wished that he and his friends were in something a little faster, but he also knew it was useless because only another jet with a skilled pilot at the helm could evade anything the Cubans threw at them. Michael glanced at Fiona again when the unmistakable sound of fighter jet engines rumbled overhead. Seconds later, the small craft shook and dropped abruptly, leaving them with the sensation that their stomachs were a few thousand feet higher in the air.

"Hang on!" Skip yelled as he worked the controls and pulled the airplane out of a downward spiral before it was too late. He kicked up the airspeed, set them on a straight course, then turned right, then left, creating a zig zag pattern in the sky.

The aircraft wasn't designed for this kind of flying, but if the alternative was splashing down in the ocean, Skip was willing to give it a shot. At that moment, he wished he'd gone to the Navy fighter jet school instead of becoming a SEAL. Then again, if he had, he probably wouldn't be hauling his former team mates and their friends on a suicide mission back to Miami. He might have been back home in Panama sleeping and dreaming of the glory days. A missile barely passed between the wing and fuselage just as Skip turned again.

"Snow, I'm taking her down to water level," Skip said as he straightened the plane and sent them into a controlled dive.

Ears popped and stomachs flipped as he continued trying to evade the Cuban jets. To the left, the headlights of cars were visible on the causeway linking the Keys. A sound like hailstones on metal warned of bullets, and everyone in the passenger area froze with fear as some pierced the fuselage and bounced around inside. One hit Skip in the back and he pitched forward. The plane took a nosedive.

Clem didn't have any flight training, but he knew that stick had to go back or they would crash nose first and all die. He grabbed the wheel with both hands and pulled. Skip's form hunched over the controls didn't help. He reached out, pushed his friend's body back against the seat, and with the other held on and pulled back. Until he saw the waves coming up at them he hadn't noticed that there was a moon that night. The tips sparkled in the light, way too close for comfort.

"Skip, I need help here!"

From his vantage point, Michael saw that Skip was unconscious. "He's out, Clem!"

"Well then hang on, because we're going down!"

Everyone took a crash position while Clem did what he could to keep the airplane skimming ever closer to the surface. He figured out how to bring it down, but as far as landing on the pontoons, that would take a miracle. There were no landmarks to help him see how close the aircraft was to the water. All he could do was keep descending. Should I just turn off the engines or figure out how to lower my airspeed? I don't want to flip us end over end!

"Aircraft A146L, please identify yourselves."

Uh oh.

"Aircraft A146L, please identify yourselves. This is the United States Navy. If you do not identify yourselves, we will be forced to attack."

"This is Captain Clement Snow, US Navy, Retired. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. We were sent off course by Cuban bogies and our pilot has been shot. Am attempting to land."

"Copy, Captain Snow. Do not attempt to land."

"Copy. Why not?"

"You have only one pontoon, Sir."

"Oh, crap." He looked out the windshield and saw a dark form coming closer.

"Sir, pull up. Pull up! There's an island in your way!"

If Clem had known how to put on the brakes, he would have. He tried to pull up, but the remaining pontoon clipped the tops of some palm trees, tore off the pontoon and the struts, snagged the craft, and slammed it down onto the sandy beach and into the vegetation.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Waiting for the explosion after the jarring drop and the sound of the crumpling of the fuselage, Sam thought this was a very inglorious way to end their quest against Card. The jets whooshed overhead and the sound faded away. The pilots must have seen fire and assumed that the craft and its occupants would be part of a massive fireball in a few seconds, not worth sticking around to witness. But it didn't happen. The plane didn't erupt into flames.

"Oh man, am I still alive," Jesse asked.

"I can hear you, so you must be. Unless we're both dead," Sam replied. "Mike, Fi. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Me too," Fiona replied. "We have to get out of here." She unsnapped her seat belt and worked against the crazy angle of the fuselage to get to the door. "I can't open this. Michael!"

Fiona and Michael worked to open the door while Sam and Jesse retrieved their things from the cargo hold. The door finally opened, and Fiona climbed out.

"Fi, I'll drop stuff down to you okay?"

"Okay!"

The three men formed a chain to get their things out of the plane within a minute. Jesse evacuated next. Sam hung back and asked, "Mike, what about Skip and Clem?"

Michael hesitated a moment, then spoke. "You're right, we need to check on them."

In the dimness, Sam gave him a look. "We're not leaving them here to die, just because you don't trust them."

"No, that's not it..."

"Go. Just go. I'll check on them myself." Sam pushed past Michael and made his way to the cockpit. The moonlight shone inside on the two unconscious men. Sam pressed his fingers into Clem's carotid and found a pulse there. He found one on Skip too, but if he didn't get help for the bullet wound to the back, he would be dead soon.

"Sam, choppers are coming! Leave them, they'll get help!"

Sam turned toward Mike and gave him a cold glare.

"Come on!" Michael didn't want to yell at him, but if it would get him to move, he would try anything. He tempered his voice a little. "Don't worry, they'll be fine, and no one will know that they helped us."

"You don't know that, Mike. Clem might be in bigger trouble getting picked up by the authorities than if he went with us."

"If he's hurt, they can help him. We don't have time to assess his injuries, and we could do more harm than good trying to move him."

Sam looked out the window and saw the running lights and spotlights on the helicopters. They were less than a mile away. It was now or never. He nodded, patted Clem's shoulder, and followed Michael out of the crashed plane. He closed the door and hoped that when the wreckage and his friends were found, the rescuers would think that they were the only two on board. He jumped into the water and found that it was only knee deep. He and Michael met Fiona and Jesse on the beach. The waves erased their tracks up to the loose sand, and from there, he and Michael used palm fronds to cover their footprints as Fiona and Jesse hauled their gear into the deep brush.

It was crazy to have to hide from their own countrymen, but that's what happened when faced with the possibility that anyone in the government could be on Tom Card's side assisting him in the extermination of Michael Westen and his team. From their cover, Sam watched the helicopters hover over the crash scene. Lines dropped and rescuers followed. His stomach was still in knots from the descent, but even more so from the fact that he failed one set of friends to help another. He abandoned Clem and Skip, and who knew what would happen to them for aiding and abetting the group's escape if the truth was discovered. Sam prayed that they would be safe and heeded the pull on his sleeve as Michael led them deeper into the jungle-like conditions on the island.

"I see something straight ahead," Michael announced as the four hurried through the trees and brush as quickly as they could.

The chopper blades sounded farther away now. Perhaps Clem and Skip were picked up and being taken to Miami at that very moment. They broke through the saplings and found a manicured lawn dotted with small gardens full of rose bushes and native flowering plants. A large dark structure loomed up at them. It was two stories, a Spanish hacienda style stucco home, and it was completely dark.

"Wow." Jesse breathed.

"I'll go and see if there are any boats here," Sam said. He dropped his gear and trotted around to the side of the house that faced the water, being careful to stay close to the vegetation in case the choppers were anywhere nearby. He spied a small fishing boat moored to the long dock. From where he stood, Sam could tell it had been closed up for awhile. He gave the side of the house a good look and noted that the hurricane shutters were all secured. Whoever owned this place was surely gone. He nodded in satisfaction and hurried back to his friends.

"Well," Michael barked. The tension was getting to him, and the way Sam looked back, Michael knew that even he realized it. He swallowed. "Sorry. What did you find?"

"The house is closed up tight and there's a small fishing boat tied up to the dock. I suggest we stay here for the night and get some rest. Then tomorrow night, we take the boat and get our tails back to Miami."

"Yes. You're right." Michael sounded like he was out of breath. "Come on, let's see if we can get inside."

Fiona was able to pick the lock, and Michael disabled the alarm. Sam and Jesse waited in the shadows inside the lanai until it was safe to go inside. Over the trees Sam observed the helicopters moving toward the mainland, and he again said a silent prayer for his friends' safety. And I hope that I'll be able to see them again. Don't let so much time pass this time.

"Sam, Jesse. We're in."

Sam let Jesse go ahead of him before he brought up the rear with the last of the bags. He gave the back yard one last long scan before going inside.

"We have running water," Fiona declared with a light tone in her voice. Following a grinding noise, she added, "And electrical power."

"Great. But we shouldn't use any lights," Michael urged them. He gave them each a fresh glow stick. "We don't want to risk any light leaking past the hurricane shutters. We'd only attract attention to ourselves."

"That's reasonable," Jesse said. "So, who wants to take watch?"

"I wonder if we should do two and two," Sam said. "One person inside, one outside. At dawn we switch."

"We should be good with one," Michael answered as he looked around. The living area in which they stood was large and very dark with the hurricane shutters over the windows that ran from floor to ceiling two stories up. "And I think we should all sleep in this room. No spreading out."

"Sounds good to me." Jesse walked over to a long couch and staked his claim by stretching out his frame upon it.

"Yeah, and we better keep our shoes on in case we have to move fast." Sam added, a minor jab at Jesse for being unprepared in Panama when they were on the hunt for Tyler Grey and had to evacuate quickly. Jesse had no time to put his shoes on and suffered cut heels until he found a replacement pair.

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Sammy."

That name reminded him of Clem again. Sam bit back his reply, grumbled under his breath, and parked himself on the opposite couch. They were all tired and getting cranky. Quality rest was what they needed the most.

"I'll take first watch," Fiona volunteered, breaking the silence.

"Thanks, Fi." Michael squeezed her hand and made his way to a shorter couch that faced the closed up windows. His feet would hang off the edge, but he didn't care. It was clean and soft, and that was all that mattered for the time being.

Several hours later, Fiona jostled Michael awake. "Rise and shine, Michael. Your turn to take watch."

"Who says," he mumbled and rolled toward the couch back.

"I do. I went first so I get to pick who goes next."

"Oh, okay."

"Fi," Jesse spoke softly and touched her shoulder. She jumped, and he gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Don't worry you two, I'll take this one. I'm wide awake and there's no way I'm going back to sleep."

"Thanks, Jesse." Fiona handed him the shotgun. "Maybe Michael will take the next watch after that. Just so you know, it's light outside, so be careful that you're not seen."

"No problem, I've done this before." He teased her as he walked toward the door. When he closed the door, it wasn't as dark as last night. Some light seeped in around the shutters and illuminated the interior just enough for them to see.

"I'll see if there's anything in the kitchen to eat," Fiona said as she wandered into the next room. She returned shortly and announced, "There isn't much, but we won't starve. The freezer is stocked, and there's nothing in the refrigerator. Whoever left this place intended to be gone for awhile."

Michael sat up on the couch. "I wish we knew how long they've been gone and when they'll be back. It wouldn't be good if they showed up today."

"Let's just hope that doesn't happen." Fiona spoke softly because Sam still lay sleeping. She was tired, so she lay her head on Michael's chest as she sat beside him. He put an arm around her and leaned his head into hers. "Mmmm, this feels good."

"Just the chance to relax for a little while feels good," Michael mumbled. Although, he wouldn't admit to Fiona that whenever he closed his eyes he replayed the vision of Sam's friends who helped them when they needed it the most. He made the decision to abandon them as if they were insignificant, when in fact the two kept his team from being killed or taken. Clem especially. He didn't shoot anyone but Grey when he had the perfect opening to complete his mission. Michael felt the wad of cash in his pocket. Some of that was Clem's. So now the guy lost his home, his money, and lay God knows where, possibly fighting for his life or his freedom, or both. Sam had every reason to be upset with him. How could he have left them like that? Back in his Ranger days, sometimes they came within a hair's breadth of being captured, but they busted their butts getting everyone to safety. Had his time on the run calloused him to the point that he'd forgotten what was decent and right? He dropped his head back onto the couch and let out a breath.

"Michael, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I can't stop thinking about Clem and Skip." Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, despite his best efforts to keep them at bay. "Fi, am I no better than Card, or any of those cold blooded hunters out there? I left them there. I saw the look in Sam's eyes. He knew that wasn't like me, but we had no time to argue. I know it killed him to have to walk away without his friends."

"We had no choice. There was no way we would have gotten them out before the choppers arrived, and then they would have found the plane empty and searched the island until they found us. No, their sacrifice saved us." She patted his chest with her hand. "Besides, to their rescuers it should appear that two friends were out flying and crashed, and no doubt they've been taken to the best trauma care hospital in Miami to be well taken care of."

"Until Card finds out where Clem is." Michael breathed in and out, the sound slightly wheezing. "He's like Larry, Fi. He wants to take out anyone who has had anything to do with me."

Fiona sensed his heart racing underneath his skin. "Are you thinking he'll hurt your mom?" Her head came up and she stared at him.

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound was his breath rattling in and out. His eyes stared straight ahead, focused on the wall as he imagined the terrible things that Card could do to her. "Fi, it's going to happen again. Only this time, she said awful things to me, and she'll die, and... and I'll never know whether she loved me or not. Whether she for..." He broke down, unable to finish. His entire body shook with sobs and his arms clamped around Fiona's torso as she took him into her arms. His head bent into the crook of her neck and bathed it with his tears.

Fiona attempted to soothe him with soft words and sounds, but he would not be comforted. Her own eyes leaked tracks of tears as her heart ached for him. He'd been through so much and barely let himself have time to grieve Nate's death. Going head first into the search for his brother's killer damaged him and, finally, he was allowed to release all the emotions and begin to heal.

Hearing intense weeping, Sam thought he was in the middle of a dream. Fiona's soft voice sliced like a velvet knife through the sorrow, and he wondered what was happening. He wasn't reliving the funeral, because things were ominously quiet at that event. Maybe Maddie finally broke. But no, they weren't in Miami. As his mind came back to wakefulness, he remembered the house on the island where they took refuge. He was on the couch, and it was a pretty comfortable place for sleeping. He dropped onto it on his back the night before and woke up in the same position. Sam raised his head and found the source of the crying, and with concern he sat up and put his feet on the floor. He scooted to the edge of the couch and was within reaching distance of Michael.

"Hey, Mike, are you okay?" He laid a hand on his knee and asked softly, concern cracking his voice.

Michael nodded, but he still couldn't speak. Sam had never seen his friend like this before. He shouldn't have been surprised after all that he'd been through lately. Before Sam awoke, he'd been thinking about his friends again and worried about them, and the anger he felt at Michael's insistence on leaving them behind brought back a whole flurry of dark emotions. But seeing him broken down pushed everything to the back of his mind. He would deal with it later. This was long overdue, and Michael's mental health was more important right now.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, so Michael sat back against the couch. Sam got up from the other couch and stood behind the furniture, and he laid a hand on his shoulder. The attention opened another floodgate, and Michael hid his eyes with his hand in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Mike. Just let it out." Sam squeezed his shoulder, looked down at Fiona and saw the request to leave them alone in her eyes, and he nodded. He stepped away and moved down a hall to find the bathroom. Maybe Fi could get Michael settled down and through his bout by the time he emerged showered and changed.

He came out to the living room and found it empty. Soft voices traveled from another room down the hall on the opposite end of the living area. He recognized Fiona's voice, followed by Michael's. He sounded like he'd regained his composure. Sam was a little hurt that Fi thought he shouldn't be around, like she had exclusive rights to comforting Michael when he needed it. She didn't know that there had been times in the past when the noise and chaos of a crisis had ceased, and the two found themselves sharing their raw emotions. Sam could handle Michael just fine. It's just that it had been a really long time.

Sam went into the kitchen, ground some coffee and made a pot. The rich scent wound its way around the walls and into the living area. Sam poured a cup for himself and one for Jesse, and he delivered it outside.

"Hey Jess, how's it going?"

"Haven't seen anything. No owners, no one investigating the crash." Jesse took a sip of the brew and smiled. "Gourmet. Good stuff."

"Yeah, nothing but the best for these people. Man, you've got to get a shower while we're here. It's one of those stalls where they have the multiple jets, and the towels are so soft, they're unbelievable!" He ran his hand through his wet hair to comb it. His eyes roved between the dock and the brush from which they emerged last night. "Did we make that path, Jesse?"

"No, I think it was already there. We just found it and used it, not thinking about whether we were following a path or making one."

"That would make sense. They have their own private beach, now complete with its own sculpture, a memorial to crashes at sea." Sam stared into his half empty cup. "I wonder if we should go check it out, see if we left anything behind."

"What you mean is, make sure that Clem and Skip aren't still inside." Jesse called it. "No. And you know Mike would say the same thing."

Sam stared at the path, and Jesse knew he was still thinking about it. "Fine." He spun on his heel and went inside without another word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

After a shower and Fiona's attention, Michael felt better. Still not completely whole, but in time he would get there. He had unfinished business with his mother, and if she survived Card's destruction of everyone Michael loved, maybe they could sit down and talk. And Sam. He had to discuss Clem with him. Putting his life into the hands of a man who killed his brother and had the means to kill him affected him deeply, but Clem was beginning to prove that he wasn't the monster that Michael made him out to be in his mind. He was sorry they had to leave him and Skip behind, and he wanted to apologize for that. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen having another cup of coffee and reading a book he must have pulled from the shelving unit in the living room. Afraid to speak and disturb him, he instead poured himself a cup of coffee. As he approached the table, Sam glanced up at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Sure, why not."

Michael sat and watched Sam's eyes scan the page, but he never turned it. After a few minutes, he sighed heavily and slammed the book shut. He rested his forehead in his hand and rubbed it as if he tried to get rid of a headache.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't stop thinking about my friends." Sam let out a long breath, and his eyes focused on the book cover. He absently pulled up the corner of the hardback book and flicked the pages. "I never abandoned my team before, Mike. Only that one time when I was shot up, and I was critical. It wasn't my fault then."

"It wasn't your fault this time, either. I'm the one who said to leave them." He placed a hand on his friend's back. "I'm sorry."

"No, you know... you were right. We didn't have enough time to extricate them and haul them away before the choppers got there. We would have all been caught and who knows where we'd be right now." He stilled his hand and looked at Michael. "I should never have gotten them involved. Especially Clem."

"He was just as much a victim of Card's evil plan as we were."

"Just keep thinking that, Mike, when I tell you this." He paused and licked his lips. "You know he confessed to me and Fi that he shot Nate when he was gunning for Anson. Right then and there I should have walked away. Or dropped him."

Michael opened his mouth. "He's your friend..."

"Yeah, well friends betray each other all the time, Mike. You know that." And friends who don't tell you the truth are just as bad. "That's not all he told us." Sam twisted the pinky ring on his left hand and stared at it, because he couldn't look his best friend in the eye when he gave him the bad news. "Clem said that Card hired him to kill Nate too. They just happened to be lined up perfectly so he could kill two with one bullet. It would look like an accident, when in fact it was on purpose."

He couldn't look at Michael's face, but Sam imagined the expression was similar to the reaction of being hit by a two by four. "No. No, that's not right. That can't be right."

Sam stopped fidgeting and turned to face him. He was right, Michael was in shock. "I'm sorry, Mike. I don't think Clem would lie about something like that."

"Why didn't you tell me when you introduced us?" The rage came up quickly and out of nowhere, and Michael struck Sam hard with his open hand.

Sam wiped the corner of his mouth. He'd bit the inside of his cheek from the slap that he so richly deserved. "Fi and I... I mean, I... I thought it would be best, in order to avoid any distractions during our escape, that we not reveal that Clem killed Nate on purpose." Michael turned away and Sam pulled on his shoulder to bring him back to face him. "If you'd known, you never would have accepted his help, even if he was our only way of getting out of there!"

Michael stood, the chair shooting out and hitting the wainscoting on the wall. "You lied to me. How do I know you're not lying now, Sam?" He ran a hand through his hair and placed the other hand on his hip as he paced madly back and forth.

"Why would I tell you something like this if it wasn't true?"

"I don't know." He leaned over the table, his face near Sam's. "Why would you not tell me the truth at the time? Didn't think I could handle it?"

Brown eyes met blue as Sam answered in a slow and even tone. "No, I didn't think you could. Not when we had someone who could help us..."

"Help us die!" Michael slammed his hand onto the table and turned away.

Sam laid his elbows on the surface and pressed his hands to the sides of his head. Sorry wasn't good enough now. He wasn't sure what he could do to mend this terrible mistake. Yet it was all he could offer. "All I can say is that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought Clem along to help, but he wanted to redeem himself, to fix what he'd done wrong."

"Until he can raise Nate from the dead, there's no fixing this." Michael's throat constricted as he was near tears again. He stood in the middle of the kitchen trembling, whether from grief or anger, Sam wasn't sure.

Sam pushed the chair away from the table. Every joint in his body moved like he was eighty years old, and he felt a deep ache in his heart that radiated all through his body. He turned toward Michael, his own eyes filled with grief as he whispered, "Mike, somehow I'll figure out how to... to regain your trust. Until then, all I can offer you is my regrets. I should have found us another way out of Panama."

Michael stepped back into the cabinets as if Sam had a disease he didn't want to catch. Sam slipped past, closed his eyes, and scrunched them shut to combat the slice of pain he felt for betraying his friend, all to give another a second chance. Never mind that it had turned out to be for their good, although now Clem was paying the price for helping the team escape.

"Hey Sam, you wanna take over for me? I know Fi said Mike was next, but..."

Sam looked at Jesse and saw the incomprehension in his eyes. "Yeah, I'll take over."

"Hey, if you two need some time, I can go back out for awhile." He started to turn toward the door, but Sam stopped him.

"No," Sam answered as he shook his head. "I can do my this. Here, let me have that shotgun."

"You're sure?" Jesse examined him with intense concern in his eyes.

"Yeah. Go get some coffee and some rest." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost lunch time. Maybe Fi can whip up something."

"Okay, man. If you need anything, just let me know."

Sam nodded and stepped outside.

* * *

Sam had never, ever hurt a friend like this before. Certainly not a best friend, the best of best friends he ever had. He shouldn't have trusted Clem. He should have taken him down when he had the chance when he admitted his guilt. Fiona was armed at the time, but he was not. Not that Sam didn't know how to dispatch someone without a gun. It would have been a lot less messy, and noisy, for one thing. They could have gone with him back to his room and done it, and no one would have been the wiser. He could have located Skip himself and they would have still flown out of there. At least then only one of his friends would have been taken away.

Who knows? Maybe we would have made it to Miami if we hadn't had Clem along. Sam knew that wasn't true. If Clem somehow contacted Card and let him know they were on a seaplane heading for Miami... but he knew that was impossible. He'd been with them all the time. Like Michael toward Sam, he now felt doubt creeping in regarding everything Clem told them. Why did he admit it? What advantage would it bring him to tell them that he was the killer?

He remembered that Clem had always been a man of honor and faith. Sometimes he had a hard time reconciling what they did with what he believed, but when put into terms of good versus evil, he felt justified. As time went by, and battles and missions eroded his innocence, only two things kept him on an even keel: his deep friendships and his even deeper faith. Nothing would shake either one. Obviously, his friendship with Sam was what saved them all, and maybe a little shove from the Almighty helped. Until he could talk to Clem, Sam would never know.

As he walked through the cool grove of trees at the back of the property, the picture of Clem and Skip unconscious in that tiny cockpit wouldn't leave him alone. It plagued him each time he neared the path that led to the private beach. On his third time around the property, he decided that he needed to see for himself that he hadn't left them to die alone. Sam returned to the lanai and propped the shotgun up in the corner near the back door, then walked out and with long strides moved through the lush greenery. If they were still there, he would need both hands free to get them out.

Sunlight bounced off the bright yellow airplane. The right wing was ripped off and resting where the plane first hit the sand. A deep gash in the beach had almost been healed by the wave action, hiding the path the fuselage took before it laid to rest partially on its side. He climbed up onto the left side facing the sky and opened the door, dropped down inside, and looked around. The team had left no evidence behind. He stepped carefully around the mashed right side of the fuselage and looked into the cockpit. He gasped. The seats were empty. The windshield was missing and the intact pieces were tossed off to the side and left in the vegetation. So they had been rescued after all. God, I hope they're in good hands!

Satisfied that his friends were gone, Sam backed out of the cockpit and used the passenger seat as a step to get out of the cabin. He placed his hands on the sides of the door frame to hoist himself up. Someone grabbed him and he half emerged from the wreckage, balancing one foot on the side of the seat as he looked around. He was surrounded by gunmen. Wearing an embarrassed smile, he put up his hands, and two of the gunmen dressed in Navy fatigues pulled him out of the wreckage and dropped him on his feet onto the beach. More sailors held him there with their weapons aimed at his chest.

"Uh, hi."

"Who are you?" A man wearing Lieutenant's bars came around from the tail section and barked the question at him.

"My name is Chuck Finley. I live here, this is my island, and I was just curious..."

"Shut up, Mr. Finley. I know for a fact that this is not your island. Take him, men."

One sailor grabbed Sam's wrists and another slapped on a pair of handcuffs. "What is the meaning of this," Sam asked, hoping he could still bluff his way through.

"We're taking you to the mainland, Mr. Finley, to ask you some questions."

"What kind of questions?" Sam squinted at the guy. It was hard to believe he'd been that young once. The Lieutenant looked like he was barely out of high school.

"Questions regarding this aircraft and what you were doing in it last night."

"I..." He felt a hand go into his pants pocket and pull out his wallet. "Hey, what are you doing?"

The sailor gave the wallet to the Lieutenant. Norton. Sam caught the name plate sewn to his fatigues. He watched the man open it up and go right to his identification. Normally, he wouldn't head out on a mission with anything but a cover name and papers to back it up, but in this case he was Sam Axe and carried all the baggage that went with that name, including a card that identified him as a former Navy Commander. He fought to keep the smile from his face when the guy saw it and frowned. He looked up from the wallet and stared at him. His posture changed; although not at attention, it was obvious he held respect for Sam's former rank.

His tone became softer, more polite as he asked, "Is there anyone here with you, Sir?"

"No. It's just me."

"Where are your traveling companions?"

Sam shook his head and looked around. "Nobody here but me. I'm telling ya, I was on that plane alone with my friends, and we crashed here last night."

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes. "The pilot and co-pilot were taken away by the Coast Guard. Why weren't you with them?"

"I went looking for help. I didn't realize we were on a deserted island."

It was obvious that Lt. Norton wasn't buying his story, but he appeared to believe that he was the only one on the island. At least Sam hoped he was reading the guy correctly. If those sailors started combing the place, Mike, Fi, and Jesse would be captured as well. He'd already sacrificed two friends. He wasn't going to let it happen again. He would rather have them focus on him and leave his friends free to complete their mission. Once they got to Card and stopped the madness, no doubt he would be set free. Sam just had to bide his time.

"I would keep my mouth shut for the time being, Commander. At least until you find yourself a lawyer, or you feel like telling us the truth." He jerked his head and the two sailors marched him around the tail. From where Sam mounted the fuselage he hadn't seen them approach the beach, and they did it so quietly, they would have made a SEAL proud. He was impressed, even if he wasn't happy about falling into their trap. They sat him in the zodiac, belted him into a seat, and took off. He gave the island one last longing glance. Mike was never going to forgive him for being so stupid.

* * *

In the middle of the afternoon, Michael glanced at his watch. "It's been pretty quiet out there."

"In here too. I'm surprised Sam hasn't taken a break for lunch or at least something to drink." Jesse glanced at Fiona, who slept peacefully on the couch. "We should probably get ready to move tonight."

"Yeah." Michael's head swiveled around and he listened. "Jess, I think I heard something outside."

"What'd you hear?"

"It's gone now. Sounded like a boat."

Jesse frowned. "It could just be boats passing the island, or someone is coming back."

Michael jumped up from the couch and patted Fiona's calf as he hurried past her. "Fi, come on, wake up. We might have company."

Fiona yawned and stretched. She'd been in the middle of a really wonderful dream, and Michael ruined it with one tap. "Who would be coming here?"

"The owners, maybe? Come on, Fi."

"Sam should have come back to warn us," Jesse said, then froze. "What if..." He couldn't finish the sentence. His feet pounded toward the door and flung it open. The shotgun, which Sam rested against the corner, caught his eye. He reached down and picked it up. "Mike, Sam left this here."

Michael stared at it, baffled. "Why would he do that?"

"He wanted to go back to the plane to check on his friends. He was afraid we left them to die in there, and I think it was really bothering his conscience." Jesse muttered a curse under his breath.

Fiona took a step forward and pushed her way past the men, grabbing the shotgun out of Jesse's hands. "Well, let's go find him!"

"Fi, wait. Nobody is going unarmed." Michael held her back. "And we're going carefully."

They returned inside and armed themselves. Fiona found a stash of weapons and ammunition in a closet, enough to outfit them for a little while if they didn't get into too many skirmishes. She handled a rifle and a handgun from the collection, Jesse took the shotgun, and Michael grabbed the Beretta. They followed the path and spread out near the beach, slinking through the thick brush to create three points from which they could converge on the airplane. No one was there.

Michael gave them a signal to enter the clearing once he saw that there were no boats in the vicinity. The sand showed evidence of many footprints around the wreckage and leading up to the shoreline.

"Michael, the plane is empty." Fiona beckoned him to the front where she looked through the windows.

He peered around her. "Where could Sam be?"

"My guess is he came out here and someone captured him," Fiona said. She planted a fist on her hip and shook her head. "Of all the dumb things Sam has done, this has got to be the worst! If we find him and he's still alive, I'm going to kick him in the head and knock some sense into him."

"Fi, you might want to give him a break," Michael said. Fear for his friend's safety and remorse over the things that passed between them caused his throat to tighten up. He swallowed and said, "After the things I said, I don't blame him for coming out here. What I wanna know is, why would anyone come back to check out the crash site?"

"You'd think they would have gone over it last night and been done with it." Jesse looked around, hoping in vain that at any second Sam would come out of the brush with a puzzled expression, asking them why the fuss. "Maybe Card had a transponder on this plane, and he knew where it crashed, so he sent a patrol back here to find anyone who survived."

"If that's the case, they weren't very thorough about checking the island," Fiona said as she squinted up at him. "We would have been found."

"No, this was probably completely unrelated to Card. A group came out here to investigate the crash, found Sam, and took him with them for questioning."

"But who? Who took him?" Fiona asked. She forced back her anxiety as her eyes scanned the empty ocean before them.

"I don't know." Michael looked toward the west at the position of the sun in the sky. "We need to get ready to leave, and we're not waiting until sunset." He glanced at Jesse and Fiona. "Are you with me?"

"Of course, Mike. We can't leave Sam vulnerable, although I'm not sure where we're going to find him."

Fiona declared. "I say we go back to Miami and talk to some of Sam's buddies. Maybe they know where he is."

Michael nodded. "I agree. Let's pack up and go."

The three picked up all their gear and in a couple of trips had it on board the boat. Fiona found the keys in a drawer in the kitchen. It took a little work to start, but once the engine came to life, Jesse let it run awhile before he drove away from the island.

"Do we have enough gas to get back to Miami?" Michael asked over the roar of the engine and the splashing water.

"I think so. We don't really have much choice, do we? We get as close as we can, and then I'll run along the shoreline, just in case we don't have enough."

"Okay, if you need me to take over at all, let me know."

Jess nodded. Michael and Fiona sat on a bench seat at the back of the boat and pretended to be a couple out with their friend on a nice afternoon excursion. The water was relatively calm and other than a cruise ship in the distance, the three didn't see any other boats. As they neared Miami the traffic picked up with yachts and smaller craft. A Navy destroyer was heading back to port, and a few of the sailors on deck waved to Fiona as their little boat ran alongside for a few moments before Jesse turned toward the coast. Fiona grinned at the attention and waved back.

"Fi."

"Michael, are you jealous?" She smiled. "I'm just playing the part of the casual boater. Don't mind me." She settled back into the protection of his arm and kissed him, banishing his negative emotions.

Normally, Michael would have said something, but his mind was on Sam, worry colliding with thoughts of where he might be. Whether Card had him or not. If he'd been injured. Maybe he was already dead. He didn't want to think about that. Why was it that every time he had a blowup with someone he loved, they wound up dead or were inaccessible or taken away, and he had no way of reconciling with them? Nate, his mom, and now Sam. He wasn't sure he could handle much more of this.

Jesse pulled in to an empty dock at a public access point. He shut down the engine, took the keys, and Michael and Fiona tied the boat to the moorings. It was sunset, and in a little while it would be dark. Easier to conceal their weapons and move about undetected. "Are we taking everything," Jesse asked.

"We'll secure it all inside, but take sidearms," Michael said.

"You're no fun," Fiona teased as she picked up a handgun, checked to make sure it was loaded, and dropped it into her pack along with a couple extra clips. She looked up into Michael's eyes and her heart felt for him and his anxiety. She reached out and caressed his cheek. "Don't worry, Michael. We'll find Sam."

"You bet we will," Jesse agreed. "Even if it takes forever, we'll find him."

"I know. I just hope he's not in any danger right now."

Little did he know that Sam was being held in the brig deep inside the destroyer they passed on the way to the dock. They were so close to, and yet so far from, recovering him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

There were no windows in Sam's cell. As a former Navy man who spent many of his days on ships and carriers, he expected this. It could be day or night outside, or a hurricane could be blowing, but he was oblivious. At least he knew the weather was calm, because the ship remained stable. No rolling or riding up and down the waves. A single light encased in plastic protected by a metal cage clung to the ceiling above. In his six by eight foot box with bars only on the entrance side, he had an uncomfortable bunk that was a glorified metal slab with a thin mattress and sheets, blanket, and a pillow, no chair to sit on, and a toilet and sink to complete his little quarters. He walked back and forth for awhile to work off the nervous energy. When he tired of that, he sat on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

If he wound the corner of a sheet through the wires on the cage and then used his weight to pull down, it would most likely rip the cage off the ceiling. Then he could take one of the wires and pick his way out of the cell. He had nothing else to work with, since they took his wallet, the wad of cash he had on him, his watch, chain, bracelet and ring. He had no shoelaces. The sneakers were slip-ons. Yet he knew that if he tried to escape, he wouldn't get far. Out of the cell and down the hall, another locked door awaited him, and after that, most likely a couple of Marines working MP duty. When an Ops director in the CIA gives the orders to detain a former SEAL, apparently they pull out all the stops.

He half expected to find other residents in the brig, but he was the only one. It was pretty lonely. Not that he was there to make friends anyway, but if he at least had one person to talk to, maybe it wouldn't be so mind-numbing to sit idle and wait. Wait for what? Where were they taking him?

Sam let out a deep sigh that morphed into a laugh. The whole situation was crazy. If he didn't laugh, he'd probably try to put his fist through the iron wall and break every bone in his hand. Instead of thinking about himself, he wondered if by now Mike, Fi and Jesse knew he was gone. No doubt they would go in search of him, putting themselves in grave danger. He could have kicked himself for being so careless. If something happened to them... if Mike never made it home to straighten things with his mom, Sam would never be able to forgive himself.

I wonder why no one has come down for me yet. Maybe Card has the crew under orders not to interact with me. He got up and approached the bars. If he leaned in and pressed his face up to them he could see down the hall to the door. The other way led to another door, but he had no idea where it led. They brought him in through the one to his right. Overhead across from his cell, a video camera watched his every move. There went any idea of escaping, unless he could disable it and several others that ran the hall. At that moment, he heard a klang that indicated someone was unlocking the metal door. It swung inward and a seaman stepped through it with a tray covered by a cloth napkin.

A Marine in full gear stepped ahead of him and halted in front of the bars. "Chow time, Sir. Please step back from the door."

Sam was proud to admit he never spent any time in the brig in his entire career, until that time in Columbia. That was an entirely different situation, and his holding cell was more like a hotel room. He followed orders and stood back, froze in place, and waited for the seaman to slide the tray through the slot at the bottom of the barred door. Then the young man stepped away, turned on his heel, and exited the brig.

"Enjoy, Sir." The Marine turned and followed him out. Only then did Sam move toward the tray. The door slammed behind the Marine and echoed down the hall.

One good thing about being held prisoner on a Navy vessel: the inmates got the same meals as everyone else. Unlike some of the places he'd spent time in various parts around the world, Navy ships had pretty decent food. It wasn't like home, but it would do. Until he uncovered the beef and gravy over noodles and took a good whiff, he didn't realize just how hungry he was. He didn't have any breakfast, and lunch time was about when he'd been captured. They didn't even offer him a sandwich then. So he dug in and finished off everything right down to the plain spice cake for dessert, forcing himself not to gulp it down and risk an upset stomach later.

A short time later the seaman returned for the tray, and a woman followed him into the hall. She was tall and attractive even with her hair pulled into a regulation bun. He noted that the Lieutenant Commander wore a medical insignia on her uniform. Well, there went the idea to turn on the charm while she tried to interrogate him. She turned and faced the bars.

"Please unlock the door," she said to the Marine. "And Commander Axe, please come with me."

"Where are we going, Lieutenant Commander..." He paused and glanced at the name plate just above her breast.

"Cates, Sir. Just getting you checked out." The Lieutenant Commander smiled at him.

Sam got up and followed her down the hall and out of the brig. Interesting that they didn't bother to shackle him. Then he discovered that the trip to the sick bay was short, the next door down. The room was well lit and the walls were a stark white that hurt his eyes after the relative dankness of the brig.

"Have a seat up on that table, Commander."

Inside Sam was itching to resist, but the two Marines at the door made him rethink his idea. Besides, he'd done enough boneheaded things today. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was 1940 hours, and the calendar below confirmed that it was still the same day he thought it was. He sat and said nothing while she took his blood pressure, checked his pulse, stuck a sensor in his ear to check his temperature, and gave him a cursory physical. He wasn't sure why the Navy was bothering, other than to record proof that they delivered him in one piece and healthy to whomever would interrogate him. His money was on Card. He hoped it was him anyway, because he was just about ready for this to be finished. Meet with Michael's mentor, the traitorous scumbag, give him nothing and hopefully have a chance to take him down. Check, check, and check, and then maybe they could go home and things might go back to normal, or at least less stressful.

"Everything meet with your approval, Lieutenant Commander?"

She gave him another one of those friendly smiles. "In a minute, Sir. I still want to run a few more checks. Please remove your shirt."

He complied, all the while a small part of him wanted to say something smart. He had the feeling that she wouldn't take kindly to it and probably would report him for sexual harassment. She was all about doing her job and nothing else. So he sat bare chested, feeling a little chilled in the air conditioned room. Her warm, soft hand was a nice contrast to the coolness of the stethoscope against his chest. He breathed for her and she moved around to his back. She listened and tapped against his lungs.

"Before you went to Panama, did you get your immunizations?"

"I keep up to date on everything," Sam replied. That was an odd question, and he wondered if she was drilling for something. "Whether I'm going out of country or I'm at home."

For a moment she looked unsettled, but the expression wiped off her face as she stepped in front of him again. "Okay. I just need to give you this inoculation, that's all." She came forward with a tourniquet, a cotton swab, and a syringe.

"What's that for?" Sam slipped sideways on the table.

She smiled again, but he didn't fall for it. "It's okay. You need this." Her expression changed, like she was used to dealing with men who were scared of needles. She was all business as she said, "I can have my friends hold you down or you sit there like a man and take it. Your choice, Sir."

Sam glanced at the Marines. Their postures suggested they would step forward in a heartbeat if he gave her any trouble. He was better off taking the shot, as long as it didn't kill him. "What's it for, anyway?"

"You may have been exposed to something in Panama."

He gave her a sly smile. "Why do you keep assuming I was in Panama?"

She frowned. "Never mind, Commander. I just have a job to do here." He could tell that his questions and resistance annoyed her.

"You mind if I put my shirt back on first? It's cold in here."

"Go right ahead." She watched, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she waited for some other remark or delay to come out of him. But it wasn't fair to give her grief, since she wasn't in charge of holding him.

Without another word, he sat up straighter and held out his arm. In one smooth move she slipped the band around his bicep, swabbed the area in the crook of his arm, and slipped the needle into a vein. The tourniquet came off with a snap as soon as she pulled the needle out. She did it so smoothly, he barely felt it.

"Hey, that's not an... ina... inoculation." Within seconds, the room began to spin and he felt sick to his stomach. She turned away to dispose of the syringe and cotton ball, then returned to him. He squinted at her, but her face was still out of focus.

"Commander, you should lie down. You'll feel better."

"I doubt it," he spoke aloud, his last coherent thought being that it must have really been a sedative to help transition him to some other location for the interrogation. Hands supported his back as someone swung his legs up onto the table and laid him flat on the surface.

"Commander Axe? Commander?"

He couldn't answer her. He was completely out of touch and tangled in the web of a drug-induced sleep. She sighed and looked at the Marine at the door. "You can let them know that he's ready for transport. I'll have the report prepared by the time he leaves."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

After disembarking, the trio caught a cab to a party motel, paid cash, and shared a room. They wouldn't get much sleep, but at least it was a good way to ensure anyone in a suit wasn't tailing them. Michael and Fiona went out under cover of darkness to find a pay phone in a quiet, out of the way diner, and Michael dialed the number he memorized when Pearce gave it to him.

"Hello, Pearce."

"It's Michael."

She sucked in a breath. "You're alive! Thank God."

Michael turned to Fiona and held the receiver between them so they could both hear. "Why did you think I was dead?"

"Word gets around," she replied. "The scuttlebutt was that you, Fiona and Jesse were killed somewhere in Panama. Sam got away and the flight he was on crashed on an unoccupied island."

Michael informed her what happened and added, "Well there was a house on the island, but it was temporarily unoccupied."

Pearce laughed. "I should have known better than to listen to the chatter coming from Card's camp. So, are you all together right now?"

"Jesse's holed up in our temporary safe house. Sam is... he was taken, but we don't know by whom or why."

"I can answer that for you easily." She snorted. "Card thought he was going to get me out of his thinning hair by putting me in a remote place. I get more intel on what's happening in DC than I did in DC or Miami!"

Michael grew impatient. "That's great, Pearce. But where's Sam? Who's got him?"

He heard some rustling papers. "The last intel I got was that he was picked up by the Navy from the island and put on a destroyer, and shipped back to Miami."

"Michael, we saw that destroyer today," Fiona said with a gasp. "We went right past it!"

"Well, don't get too excited. By now he's been moved. My sources say he's in a secure place for the time being."

"What does Card want with him?"

"My guess is he's using Sam as a bargaining chip, or he knows you're still alive and he's trying to make you come out of the woodwork to rescue him and be picked off." She paused and her breathing sounded over the line. "Is there any way I can send you some intel?"

"If we could get access to a computer, I have an e-mail address you can send it to." Michael gave her the address. "We'll get our hands on a computer and look at what you've got."

"Michael." Pearce hesitated. "I want you to know that until recently I had no idea what I was holding in my hands. These events got me starting to connect the dots, and the intel I received yesterday only makes it more obvious. If you can use this against Card, go for it. He needs to see the inside of a prison cell, because everything points to him and Anson working together."

Michael had suspected it for some time, but hearing it from her lips stole his breath away for a moment. "Thank you for your help. I didn't know if I could count on you." He felt ashamed for having doubted her. She didn't make things easy for him when she was in Miami, and they butted heads too many times. Then they started working together, and it must have irritated Card to no end. When she was banished, he discovered too late that she was a valuable team member.

"I hope the files I send you can help put the lid on Card. I've got the originals in a safe place, and if something happens to me, there'll be a code in the e-mail that tells the location. You just have to decipher it." He could almost hear the smile in her voice. "You're a smart guy. I know you'll figure it out. Good luck, Michael."

"Good luck to you too, Pearce. Keep your head down."

When Fiona and Michael returned to the motel, Jesse was propped up on the headboard of one of the beds trying to watch television. He couldn't hear the dialogue on the program because the music coming through the wall was too loud, and he didn't want to turn up the volume so far that he couldn't hear his friends returning. He set his feet on the floor and greeted them with a bright smile.

"Hey, I was beginning to worry about you two. Did you phone Pearce?"

"Yes, and we had to go out and get a computer."

"And some burn phones," Fiona added, and she handed him one.

"Pearce is sending me some files that she says will blow everything wide open concerning Card." Michael pulled the brand new laptop from the box and fired it up. As soon as it was ready, he accessed his e-mail account. "Here it is. Oh, several different e-mails with files." He opened one and clicked on the attachment. After reading it quickly, he opened another, and another.

The three spent so much time studying the files that the noise outside died down to nothing and they still read the information on the screen.

"This is huge, Mike. Anson and Card sleeping in the same bed. And then you got into their business."

Fiona pushed a strand of hair back and rested her head in her hand. "He must have been afraid that you would discover everything, and he was on the brink of being found out, so he had Anson killed. Nate was convenient collateral damage."

"Killing Nate set Maddie against Michael, and taking Sam is just part of the plan to destroy Michael Westen from the inside out," Jesse said. His mouth formed an 'o' as he sat on the bed. "I bet Clem was supposed to take all of us out except for you, Mike."

"No. Clem said I was a target as well."

"Then maybe you were supposed to watch us all go down before he killed you. Card is one sick dude."

"For what purpose did he engineer all this?" Fiona asked, frustration evident in her tone.

"By making me break, Card wins. If everything I love is turned against me or destroyed and I have nothing to lean on, he thought that I would have a breakdown that would blow any credibility I have if I spoke to anyone about what I knew regarding Anson and Card being in a partnership."

"As long as we're alive, he'll keep coming after us and you," Fiona said with a faraway tone as an idea formed in her head. "Maybe we should be dead, then." She glanced at Jesse.

"Woah, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying, we take the boat out tomorrow, you and I, Jesse. We set up a scenario first where we have a big argument with Michael so the whole motel witnesses it, we take off in the boat, and it gets lost at sea." She smiled. "It's been awhile since I've blown something up. It might be fun."

"Then what?"

"We'll lay low for a few days, but we'll have to stay in contact with Michael somehow. Once Card discovers that we're gone..." She sucked in a large breath. "Your mom. Michael, he may go after your mom next! After we ditch the boat, we'll have to get back here and go to your mom's. We need to protect her."

"Fi, why don't you do that after you rig up the boat. We'll have our argument with Mike, split up, and you'll go crying to Maddie. I'll take the boat out, blow it up, and get back to shore. Then I'll lay low for awhile until it's all clear." He smiled. "Maybe I can find Clem and Skip and hang out with them. At least then I can keep an eye on Clem to make sure he doesn't go after you again."

"That's a good idea. And I'll stay with Maddie and keep her safe. If worst comes to worst, we fake our deaths. Don't worry, I'll figure that out later." Fiona smiled. "I like it. Michael?"

At the mention of his mother's name, Michael zoned out. Staring at the wall, he suddenly realized that they were done speaking and shook his head. "What? What was that?"

"We'll go over the plan again," Fiona said with a sigh. She and Jesse outlined what they would do. "After we're gone, contact Card and tell him that his plan backfired and that you have information that you're ready to take to the higher ups and expose him. Maybe he'll be desperate enough to bargain for the info in exchange for Sam."

"If he hasn't already killed him." Michael hung his head and dropped it into his hands. "I can't take it if anyone else dies because of me. Nate, Sam, my mom, you guys..."

"Don't worry, Michael. This will work." Fiona rubbed his back until she felt his muscles loosen. "Come on, let's get some sleep before we do this. I want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed when we have our big fight!" She grinned.

"It's gonna have to be loud enough to wake the dead in the next rooms over," Jesse said.

"You've never heard Fi when she's really angry."

"Michael." She glared at him.

For the first time in awhile, he grinned and held up his hands in surrender. "Save it for later, please!"

She huffed, turned toward the bed and dropped on it. "Good night, Jesse." She turned off the lamp on hers and Michael's side of the room.

"Good night, Fi, Mike. See you in the morning."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Fiona wasn't kidding when she said that she and Jesse would be loud enough to wake up the party animals next door. With a lot of shouting and a few thrown punches, Fiona and Jesse both stomped out of the room and left Michael screaming after them. It hurt him to yell curses at his friends and say he never wanted to see them again. He knew that they knew it was all part of the show, but it sounded too real for a few moments. His face looked sufficiently distressed when the residents on both sides came out, stared at him with slitted eyes, and then returned to the rooms. The motel manager heard about the ruckus and asked him to move out.

"Guess that worked a little too well," he muttered as he walked down the street with the computer tucked into a brief case. He walked past a window and spied his reflection. After a few days, he looked terrible, like he was in competition with Sam to see who had the scruffiest facial hair. He needed to get cleaned up for his showdown with Card. He also had some time to kill to make sure that Fiona was in place and Jesse did his part at the boat dock.

He heard a beep on the burner phone. Opening it up, he saw a text from Jesse. _Boom._

All he needed now was to hear from Fi, and he could call Tom Card and set into motion his part of the plan.

Jesse caught a cab to the hospital where he hoped to find Clem and Skip. He approached the front desk and asked, "I wonder if you can tell me where Clem Snow and Skip Newman are, what rooms they're in."

"Skip?"

"Oh, that's a nickname." Jesse tried tor recall when they were first introduced what Clem said his name was. "I think his first name is Stuart."

"Yes, we have a Stuart Newman in 510. You can go right up, Sir."

"Thanks." Jesse entered the private room and found Clem sitting in the chair next to Skip's bed. Skip was unconscious and hooked up to all sorts of equipment. Clem heard feet on the vinyl floor and raised his head, and from the look in his eyes Jesse wasn't sure whether he was relieved or scared to see him. He opted for relieved with a guarded stance. Clem got out of the chair and met him half way into the room.

"Jesse, you found us. Is everybody okay?"

Jesse couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "You care that we're alive?"

A dark frown sliced across Clem's face but was quickly swept away. "Come on, man, I'm sorry! I was trying to make it up to Michael somehow by helping and not trying to kill you all. Please, believe me when I say if there's anything I can do to get Card, let me know." He hesitated, afraid to ask. "Where are Michael, Fiona and Sam?"

"Michael's okay. We're working on a plan to get Card. Fiona is, well, she's taking care of something. But Sam, we don't know where he is right now. He was taken away," Jesse replied. "Long story, but he apparently went back to the beach yesterday to see if you two were gone. It really bothered him that we left you in that cockpit."

"Bet Mike had no qualms about leaving us there, am I right?" A twisted smile crossed Clem's face. "I don't blame him. I would have done the same thing maybe if the tables were turned on me."

"We didn't have time to get you out and get away. Helicopters were coming!"

"Yeah, I know. It all ended well, I guess. We got picked up, Skip made it here and they operated in time to save his life. I just got a bump on the head. I'm fine." He sighed. "Now, about Sam..."

"We have no idea where he is, but he was picked up and transported to Miami on a destroyer," Jesse answered.

"Interesting. The CG's picked us up and brought us right here. They had a couple of Navy boys watching over us until this morning. All of a sudden they took off like a shot." He paused. "Then I got this message." He pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to him. "It's from Card. He wants me to fly up to DC to meet him today."

"It says you're meeting a special package at the airport and will be flying with it to DC." Jesse read part of the note aloud. "You'll be given a new assignment at that time." He folded up the sheet and gave it back to Clem. "I don't understand. What does he want with you in DC?"

"I'm not sure. I have this awful feeling that this package he's talking about is Sam." He tapped the paper against his palm and turned toward the window. "Jesse, if that ticket is a one way, I'll be really worried."

"Okay, just wait. Let me contact Mike and see what he thinks about this." He got on the burner phone. "Hey Mike, it's me. I found Clem and Skip. Skip's been hospitalized, but Clem is okay. He got a note to fly to DC with a package, and he's supposed to meet Card up there."

"Great. Let me give Card a call, and hopefully I can set up an exchange of Sam for the intel." He paused. "Put Clem on the phone."

Jesse handed the phone to him. "Michael wants to talk to you."

"Me?" Clem looked shocked. He picked the phone out of Jesse's hands as if he expected it to turn into scorpions at any second. He placed it up to his ear and said, "Hello, Michael, it's me. Clem."

"I need you in order to make this plan work." The silence was long, and Michael asked, "Clem, are you there?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Mike. I'm just trying to figure out how I earned your trust so quickly. I mean, shouldn't you be wondering if I'm going to kill you?"

"If you keep bringing it up, maybe I should be. But I'm not." He paused for a breath. "Just before Sam went missing, he and I had a... conversation... about you. He would have bet his life on you, he was that certain that you could be trusted."

Clem's mouth twitched. "I guess he really did, didn't he?"

"Yeah. I trust him, so I trust you. After this is over we can talk about apologies and such. Right now we need to save Sam and ourselves."

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"I think Card is recalling you to DC because he wants to set up a scenario where you kill me."

"But instead, I'll be set up to kill him?" Clem smiled. "That I can do."

"Hopefully I can just get him busted and locked up for an eternity. I'm ready to contact some people who would be very interested in Card's extra curricular activities. They're in DC, which would make this work perfectly."

"So I should follow Card's instructions and be where he wants me to be?"

"That's correct. Then you look for an opportunity if things appear to go south. Card cannot walk away alive from this meeting, unless he's in handcuffs with the authorities surrounding him."

"I understand, Michael. I promise I won't let you down. Sam said you were the best spy he ever knew. Now I see why."

"Thanks. Good luck, Clem."

"Same to you, Michael. Is there a way I can contact you in an emergency?"

"Get a burner phone and memorize my number. Let me know what your number is so I can call you and you can listen in when I make the meeting with Card."

"Will do."

After the conversation ended, Clem told Jesse the result of the call. "I'm going to go get myself a phone. Can you stay here with Skip?"

"Sure. I'll do that. I'm pretty much waiting for the rest of the plan to come together."

"I'll be back in a little while." Clem rushed out of the room. He didn't have to go far to find a store with phones. He bought one and returned to the hospital. He found Jesse still in the room and Skip was still asleep.

"Hey, how's he doing, anyway," Jesse asked Clem as he sat in a chair near Jesse.

"They've kept him pretty much out of it. He was really lucky, another inch or so and that bullet would have severed his spine. He'll have a lot of healing to do, but they're saying he'll live."

"That's good." Jesse played nervously with his phone while his eyes met Clem's. "I'm sorry you guys had to get into the middle of our business."

"It's not your fault. If I hadn't been hired by Card to kill you, I wouldn't have been in your business. So there's no need to apologize." Clem smiled and sat back in his chair. "As bad as this has been, I'm glad to be on the sidelines right now. At least until I have to go to DC." He let out a deep breath and relaxed in the chair. "I'm not loving this plan of Mike's, but the last thing I wanna do is kill a good man." He glanced at his watch. "I should really get going to the airport. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah, until things are over. By the end of the day, hopefully." Jesse smiled reassuringly. "Mike knows what he's doing."

"Boy, this is some turnaround! Here I am having to trust a guy who was just my target."

"And he has to trust a guy who was determined to kill him and his friends."

"Sounds like a matchup made in heaven, huh?" Clem laughed, grinned, and shook Jesse's hand. "See you later, man. Skip, behave yourself." He patted his friend's leg and left the room.

"It's just you and me now, Skip. Let's hope they pull it off, because if they don't, Fi's gonna have her hands full with a death squad."

* * *

Fiona knocked on the back door. She saw Maddie sitting at the cafe table drinking coffee. The usual cigarette hanging from her fingers was missing, and she looked like she hadn't put herself together in days. She knocked again and called her name. "Madeline? Please let me in. It's Fiona. Please, Madeline!"

The sound of her name sparked something in Maddie. She got up, shuffled to the door and opened it a few inches. "Fiona." She glanced around looking for Michael, and when she didn't see him, she appeared relieved. "What are you doing here?"

Fiona's heart went out to the woman. Her voice sounded small and hoarser than normal, but it was obvious she hadn't been smoking. The perpetual blue haze inside the house was gone. With a soft, serious voice, Fiona asked, "Can I come in?"

"Why are you here?" Her brow furrowed and she still held onto the door. Through the crack Fiona could see that she was in her robe and pajamas.

"Something is going on, something very serious, and I need to stay here to watch over you."

"Why?" Maddie's eyes opened a bit.

"It's a long story. If you let me in, we can share a cup of coffee and I'll tell you all about it." Fiona smiled at her in a way that usually melted Maddie's heart.

Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from the door. "Okay. Come on in."

With full cups before them, Fiona told Maddie about the events of the past couple of weeks, from the time they went down to Panama to Sam's being taken and the upcoming plan to capture or kill Card in DC. Fiona watched as she told the story, and she noted with satisfaction that Michael's mother tried in vain to hide her fear for her son. She still loved him. She was just hurting over Nate's death and the misplaced anger that she didn't know how to handle. When this was all over, maybe she would sit down with Michael and eliminate the wall between them. A mother needed her son, and a son needed his mother. The anguish in her eyes when Fiona talked about the risk Michael was taking was proof enough.

"Are you certain that this Clem guy is really the one who shot Nate? Michael said it was some man named Tyler Grey."

Fiona nodded. "Yes. He admitted it to Sam and me."

Maddie rose out of her chair and her voice rattled against the walls as she shrieked, "And you let this man work with Michael? Are you crazy? What is Michael thinking?"

Not sure what to do, Fiona worked on instincts. She got out of her seat and put her arms around Maddie, who began to cry. "Clem has proven that he doesn't want to hurt Michael. He could have shot him, but he didn't. He could have shot us all. He only hit Grey, and very deliberately, I might add. Plus, he helped us get out of Panama."

Maddie nodded. She wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't anything she could do to change what was currently a plan in motion. "I was so cruel to him."

"What?"

"When Michael was here," she replied with a sniffle. "Before you went to Panama, Michael came here and I was so angry. I said things I didn't mean to say, and I pushed him away. I wouldn't let him touch me." Her forehead dropped to Fiona's shoulder. "If something happens and I..."

"Shh, nothing's going to happen to Michael."

"You can't promise that!" Maddie pushed away from her.

Continuing in a soft voice, Fiona said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't promise. Let's just say that I have faith that Michael will come home safe, along with Sam. Jesse is in a safe place right now. Card doesn't appear to care about Skip, so Jesse is staying by his side in case we're wrong."

"And Michael and Sam go charging into the middle of danger again." Maddie sighed heavily. She swiped away the tears and pressed a hand to her forehead. "So, what am I supposed to do?"

"I want you to pack a bag and be ready to move on a moment's notice. We don't really want to be here if a goon squad comes around to kill you." Fiona grinned as an inspiration hit her. "Why don't we go to Disney World?"

"Disney World? Oh yeah, that's right, it's got lots of people and lots of good security." Maddie snorted. "Sam told me that once." The corner of her mouth tipped up, the closest she'd gotten to a smile in weeks. "I don't know why I'm doing this, but, okay, let me get myself together, and we'll go."

Fiona found a piece of note paper and a couple of ancient crayons in the junk drawer. She rolled them in her fingers. They must have been Nate's, because they were still intact. Michael's would most likely have been broken into pieces. With a smile at the thought, she drew a circle with two smaller circles touching the larger one and filled it in with blue, not caring if she went out of the lines. Then she tacked it to the cork board next to the picture of Nate's son Charlie just before she and Maddie left the house. To a stranger, it might look like a child's drawing, but if Michael saw it, he would know in an instant where they went.

Maddie put her bag into the trunk among Fiona's tools and weapons that she always kept inside. Somehow, going to the happiest place on earth seemed so incompatible with that picture. But she had no time to argue. She got into the car. Fiona started it, looked over at her and smiled.

"What?"

"You look really nice today, Madeline."

"Well, I was going out, I figured I better look alive." She fluffed a curl at the back of her head.

They remained silent until they were on the road. Fiona looked over at her and said, "I'm really glad you just came with me, no questions asked."

Maddie sighed and looked out the window at the passing scene. "I've learned over the past few years that sometimes I should just do and not ask."

"I know you don't like it. But it's for your safety."

The older woman turned back to Fiona. "When is it going to be over? When will I be able to live a normal life again, without worrying whether Michael is alive or dead, or where he is, who's after him, or..." She choked back a sob. "Fiona, I'm so tired of him running off and leaving me behind."

"He... he promised me that after this is over, he's done with the agency. We'll just go back to working together helping people."

"You believe that?"

"I do." Fiona smiled. "The way he looked at me when he said it, Madeline, I knew it was true."

"I don't know how anyone can believe anything that comes out of his mouth. All the lies he's told over the years. How much of it was true that he told me?" She sniffled. "The last time we spoke, he tried to apologize, and then he said it was Nate's fault because he didn't listen to Michael and do what he was told."

"He didn't follow Michael's instructions, and he paid the price for it," Fiona replied, knowing she was being harsh, but it was the truth. "Michael didn't even want to take Nate. He would have preferred to take Sam, but Pearce told him Sam wasn't welcome on the job. He knew how much Nate wanted to prove himself, to make Michael proud of him. So Michael gave him his chance." She shook her head. "If he'd known how it would turn out, he wouldn't have let Nate go."

"He should have known something might go wrong."

"Yes, he should have. But he thought that Nate would be safe as just a driver and guide. He should have been. But Nate... well, he was being Nate. He got caught up in the excitement and wasn't thinking clearly."

Maddie thought about that. She knew her younger son always jumped in feet first without considering the consequences. How many times in his life did he wind up crashing and burning because of this tendency? The failed businesses and his marriage to Ruth were all perfect examples that it was as much Nate's fault as anyone's. Tears blinded her and she reached into her bag for a tissue. She silently mopped up the mess and stared out the window.

"Michael and I have to talk when he gets back." She turned to face Fiona, who glanced at her with a small smile of victory. "If he returns."

Fiona reached across the console and squeezed Maddie's hand. "He'll come back. He's got one of the best snipers the Navy ever had watching his back."

"The very same one who tried to kill him?" Maddie scoffed.

"Everyone needs a second chance, and right now, Michael has no choice. He needs Clem to be on his side."

If Michael could put aside animosities and trust a man who was hired to harm him and his friends, maybe she could put aside her animosities and open her heart to a son she didn't always understand but whom she loved just the same.

They'd been silent for a long time when Maddie spoke. "It may seem like I didn't love Michael as much as Nate, but that's not true. I babied Nate, because he was always so needy. Michael was independent, strong, and he could take care of himself. So I never had to give him the same kind of attention that I gave Nate." She sighed deeply and dabbed at more tears. "I see now what a mistake that was."

"Like any son, he just wants his mum to love him. He puts up that wall, but he desperately wants you to break through it."

"I know. I have to work on that." Maddie smiled behind the tears.

"I know you can do it. You're one determined woman, and there's no doubt that Michael got that from you. You two are a lot more alike than you'd care to admit."

Maddie chuckled softly. "Maybe that's why I've been so angry, because I know him and I know myself, and I felt just as guilty for letting Nate go as Michael did for letting his brother work with him." She spied the mile marker. "We're almost there."

"Yes, you are." Fiona smiled and gave the car a little more gas.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Card included Clem's itinerary in the note, as well as the hangar where he was supposed to meet the package and the plane that would take him to DC. He arrived a little early to get the lay of the land and figure out his exit strategy if necessary. The small jet sat in front of the closed hanger. Clem approached the open door and staircase, and as he did so, a black sedan with heavily tinted windows pulled up and parked near the stairs. With curiosity he watched who, or what, would come out of the vehicle.

The back door opened and a well-groomed man in a black suit climbed out and stood before the door. He buttoned his suit and looked around, then leaned into the car, reached with one arm, and another person followed him. Just as Clem suspected, it was Sam. He looked uninjured and a little pale. His hands were fastened in front of him with hinged cuffs. The man in the suit took him by the upper arm and led him to the airplane. As he neared, Clem noticed the shuffling stride and the bleariness of his eyes. Someone had been drugging him up, afraid he would try something.

"Hey, Sammy. You look like hell," Clem said with a wink and fell into step beside him.

"Thanks. I feel like it. Nice to see you looking healthy." As they spoke, the man in the suit kept them walking to the aircraft. "How's Skip?"

"You two girls can talk on the plane," Mr. Black Suit said as he put out his arm and indicated that Clem should go first.

Clem trotted up the steps, entered the cabin and was greeted by a woman dressed like a flight attendant. Not feeling chatty with strangers, he picked a seat along the left side of the plane. Mr. Suit dropped Sam into the seat across the aisle from him and back one row. He sat behind Sam. Another man boarded with a machine gun and sat up front facing the rear of the cabin. The better to keep an eye on them, no doubt. The woman folded up the stairs and closed the door, locking it securely. She sat in a seat across the aisle from the guy with the gun and strapped in.

"Hey, you, guy in the suit," Sam said. "You mind helping me with this seat belt?"

Mr. Suit muttered something incomprehensible and came forward. He found both ends of the belt and joined them, then tightened it across Sam's lap.

"Thanks. I don't think your boss would appreciate me getting all banged up before I arrived wherever you're taking me, would he."

Mr. Suit didn't answer. He just went back to his seat and belted himself in. His eyes never left Sam and Clem. Clem glared at him before giving Sam his attention. "Skip is in the hospital, Sam. If you guys had pulled us out and tried to take care of us yourselves, he probably would have died. That bullet did a number on him."

"But he's going to be okay?"

Nodding, Clem answered. "Yeah, he just needs rest now."

Sam closed his eyes and leaned into the seat. "That's good."

Clem studied him with an intent gaze. "Question is, are you okay?"

"Fine. They drugged me up yesterday. I think it was yesterday, when I was on the ship. It was a Navy ship, but I don't know which one. I woke up later in a bed in a room with the windows all blacked out, so I don't know if it was a hotel or if it was day or night. They hit me again just before bringing me to the airport. Not quite so strong this time, I think. Where are we going?"

"They didn't tell you, huh? DC. We're meeting Card there. At least I am, but I think you'll be at the party too." Clem looked out the window and watched the ground fall away as the plane ascended. "Michael is supposed to be there with files that Card wants. Files that would tell the agency that he's been a naughty boy for quite some time."

"He and Anson were working together."

"Yeah."

Sam closed his eyes a moment and fought off weariness. "So what's the plan?"

"The plan is for you to be quiet," Mr. Suit said as he gripped Sam's arm. "When the exchange goes down, you just stand still and you'll be fine."

"Depends on the perspective," Clem mumbled. Mr. Suit didn't hear, but Sam did. Clem locked eyes with his friend and pantomimed that he would be on a sniper's perch, but he couldn't figure out how to convey who he would be shooting.

Sam's eyes moved up from his friend's hands to his eyes and turned dark. Clem knew he misunderstood, and he was angry. He tried again to make him see, but Sam turned his head away and closed his eyes. He was asleep again in no time at all. Clem kept hoping that Sam would wake up, but even if he did, there wasn't much he could say with Mr. Suit around. Half way into the flight, the man got out of his seat.

"You watch these guys," he said to the gunman at the front of the plane. The man nodded and kept his gun at the ready. Mr. Suit went to the bathroom.

"Does anybody want anything to drink?" The woman who sat quietly up until that point asked.

"I'll have some water if you've got it," Clem replied with a smile. He had to wonder how she got roped into this flight and whether the pilot knew he was flying them to a showdown.

She approached Clem with the bottle and handed it to him, and also had one in her other hand. "Your friend should probably have some too," she said. Her eyes locked with Clem's, and she made sure he saw the handcuff key clenched between two of her fingers and pressed up against the bottle. She gave Clem a smile and moved to stand next to Sam. She set the bottle of water on the seat next to him, leaned over, and spoke to him. "Sir? You should probably wake up and have some of this water. It's a long flight, don't want you to get parched."

Sam stirred as she stuck the key into the lock on one cuff. It quickly unfastened, and she moved to the other one. While she worked, she kept her movements to a minimum to avoid alerting the other gunman. Sam's eyes opened and he found her less than six inches away from him. He could have kissed her she was so close.

"What..."

"Shh, I want to help you," she whispered. As she spoke, she kept her eyes on the back of the plane while she reached down to his lap. She touched his leg, and her fingers skimmed over places that women usually didn't get to until at least the end of a date. Her fingers quickly moved up and unfastened the seat belt but didn't separate it. "Your friend Michael Westen contacted people in the CIA, people higher up than Card. We have a plan in place, but it's going to require you and your friend disabling our buddies. And in DC, when Card makes it look like you're being exchanged for the files Michael has..." Her eyes widened as she saw Mr. Suit exit the bathroom. Without missing a beat, she leaned in and picked up the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and offered Sam a drink.

Sam tried the cuffs, and both of them were loose. He didn't hear the whole plan, but he thought he had an idea of what was about to happen once they arrived in DC. He nodded and took the water she offered. When he had his fill, he whispered, "Thanks." She turned away, screwing the cap back on, when Mr. Suit grabbed her roughly and turned her back around.

"Nobody said you could get up! You were supposed to stay in your seat until we landed!"

"You can't let these people get thirsty, Sir! If you want something, I can..."

"Get back to your seat!" He pushed her up the aisle and she fell, striking her elbow on an arm rest. She lay on the floor rubbing it and caught Sam's eyes. She shook her head, warning him not to do anything.

When Mr. Suit kicked her to get her to move, Sam wasn't about to sit idly by and watch him abuse her any more. While the guy was focused on the woman, Sam lost the cuffs and pulled open his seat belt and waited. When he was even with his seat, Sam pushed himself up, elbowed the guy in the jaw, and sent him sprawling into the seats on the other side of the aisle. Sam executed a chokehold on Mr. Suit and used him as a human shield in case the guy with the automatic decided to start shooting. He pulled the sidearm from the man's holster and held it up to his head while he kept an even pressure on his throat. All of this happened in a matter of a few seconds. While Sam attacked Mr. Suit, the woman pulled the cap off the water and flung it into the gunman's face. His natural reaction, even though it was just water, was to put up his arm and block it.

Clem hurled himself out of his seat, leaped over the woman, and jumped the guy with the automatic gun. He had surprise on his side, and in three punches, the guy was out. Clem picked up the weapon his man dropped, and he turned to see Mr. Suit collapsing from the hold Sam had on his windpipe. The three looked at each other with their breaths heaving and smiled.

"Thanks for the help, Miss..." Sam said.

"Agent JoAnn Packard, CIA." She grinned.

He smiled as he gave her a hand up onto her feet. "Sam Axe, and this is Clem Snow, just a couple of ex-Navy SEALs and friends of Michael Westen."

"Pleasure, guys." She swiped at her skirt, settling it back into place. "Now, why don't we get these two packaged up? There'll be agents waiting for them in DC."

"Mikey came through, huh?" Sam's grin was brighter than the sun.

"He was pretty determined to make this work, Sam. Did you think he couldn't do it," Clem asked.

"Are you kidding? Mike's the only one I'd expect to get it done! It's just that things have not been going our way for awhile now, and I was afraid this would be another in a long line of setbacks."

"Well, I have a feeling that things are going to change for you and your friends, Sam." JoAnne handed him the cuffs he discarded.

Sam put the set on Mr. Suit. Agent Packard had along more devices to secure the two men so that when they came to they shouted and protested up a storm but couldn't get free. Sam took a seat across the aisle and trained the automatic on the two to shut them up. Clem stood in the aisle caressing a Browning sniper rifle like the one he used to kill Anson and Nate. He looked at them with a dangerous light in his eyes, and at the sight of their horrified expressions, he looked at them as if they were crazy.

"You really think I'd shoot something like this in here at this altitude? Please, guys, how dumb do you think I am?" He chuckled and shook his head slowly. "No, for times like this, I use this baby." He pulled out a Sig Sauer pistol and waved it in the air.

"Where on earth did you get that rifle," Sam asked, gaping.

"JoAnn had it in the closet up front." He glanced at the sidearm. "This beauty, I got when I went out to buy a burn phone. Just in case." He winked. "I have some people who have a friendly arrangement with me and they have friends in Miami with arms connections. I got hooked up."

Sam got a wary look on his face as he asked, "It wasn't by chance a guy named Seymour, was it?"

Clem shook his head. "Nope. Why'd you ask?"

"Let's just say that Seymour is one papaya short of a tropical smoothie," Sam said. "You're better off not dealing with him."

"Ahhh, one of them." Clem nodded, and Sam joined him. They'd known guys like Seymour in the early days of their careers. Joining the SEALs was a nice way to get out of their midst, and instead eliminate a few of them when they went completely nuts on the world.

"Guys, we're going to be landing soon." JoAnn informed them. "Better get buckled in."

"Okay." Clem got into the seat in front of Sam's so he could help keep an eye on their prisoners. "So, now that we've got these guys, I'm not sure how the rest of the plan is going to work."

Sam spoke. "Well, tell me what the plan was, and we can improvise."

"We're meeting Card in a section of the Smithsonian that's under renovation. There are catwalks above, and I'll be stationed on one of them, kind of hiding in the rafters. These guys were supposed to meet Card at the site before Michael showed up with the files. He would make an exchange for you, and according to Card's plan, I would shoot you, then Michael."

"Oh, nice."

"I had no intention of shooting you, Sammy. Michael's plan was almost the same, except instead of exchanging papers for you, I was supposed to just fire at Card when you were out of range."

"And how would I know when I was supposed to be out of range?" Sam cocked an eyebrow.

"We figured if I took one shot, you'd move your butt out of the way!" Clem replied with a laugh. Then he sobered and added, "Seriously, Michael was going to try talking to Card to get enough distance between you and him that I'd have a clean shot, but then again, you know me, Sammy. I can split an olive in half off a skewer at 1,000 feet."

Sam nodded. "And not even disturb the martini."

"Damn straight."

"You two are crazy," JoAnn said.

"To work with Clem, you've gotta be," Sam teased.

"So, how is this plan going to change," Clem asked, ignoring Sam's good-natured barb. "If we show up without his guys, Card will get suspicious."

"If we get there early enough, it won't matter." JoAnn said. "Trust me, we've got this covered."

"When Mike shows up, everything plays out the same?" Sam asked.

"Except I think it would be really fun if you're standing in front of him and you turn around and take the cuffs off. Freak him out." Clem said with a wicked grin. "Then back up, because I'll be covering you guys. If he tries to shoot at anybody, I'll pick him off. If he just stands there, Michael will tell him I've got a bead on him. He'll look up, see me, and it's his choice at that point whether or not I shoot him."

Sam was surprised how cold the words sounded as they came out of his friend's mouth. He'd forgotten how Clem could get so wrapped up in a mission and a sniper assignment that he lost sight of the fact that he was about to kill another human being. Later on, Sam would help him deal with the fallout, and he'd do it again if necessary. He still considered it a miracle that Clem had the good sense to decide not to shoot them in Panama, for which he was grateful.

"Okay, the pilot says we're coming in for a landing," JoAnn said as she got off the phone link between the cockpit and the cabin. "Everybody stay seated."

The airplane landed without incident and taxied to a hanger where a car waited. Two men in suits stood outside of it, hands clasped before them, waiting for the occupants of the aircraft to deplane. The ground crew placed chucks against the wheels, the engines shut down, and JoAnn got up to unlock the door and drop the steps. Sam and Clem took the prisoners out and walked them down to the tarmac. Sam watched the eyes of the two men standing beside the car. Neither of them seemed to be surprised. Neither of them moved.

Clem was the first to approach and shove his captive toward them. "You guys are here for these two, aren't you."

"Yes, Sir." One man opened the back door and let Clem's man inside. The other led Sam's around to the other side and put him inside. "We'll make sure they're well taken care of. Thanks, fellas."

"No problem." The two watched the sedan roll away, and JoAnn approached them.

"Well, there's no time to be messing around here, guys. We've gotta get to the Smithsonian."

"You're coming with us," Sam asked.

"Those are my orders. Let's go, the car is here." Another black sedan pulled up and the three got inside. Sam and Clem took the back seat, and she got in between them. It was tight, even more so when she turned around and picked up something from the back. "I'll be outside the entire time in case you need backup. Sam, do you have a problem with wearing a wire?"

"You can put it on me." Sam answered and gave her a leer. "But only if you remove it later."

She met his eyes and dashed his hopes with the coolness in hers. "You don't want me to do that. Trust me." She glanced down at his shirt. "Unbutton it, please."

"Man, that's twice in two days a woman's asked me to disrobe," Sam said with a chuckle. "I need to get captured more often."

"Oh, brother." Clem shook his head and looked away.

"You'll have to lose the gun. Card isn't going to let you in there with it." She pulled the gun from his waist band and started working on the wire.

"Ow! Hey, watch that!"

Clem's curiosity was up and he turned to watch, but JoAnn was in the way so he couldn't see much. She was bent and focusing on taping the lead to Sam's stomach and chest, unsuccessfully it seemed.

"Sorry! Stop moving, and maybe I'll get it right!" She pressed the wire to his body, followed it up from the battery pack, and placed tabs of tape along the line. "There. Now quit your complaining. Jeez."

"If we ever do a mission with her again, you're getting the wire," Sam grumbled to Clem.

"You'd have to catch up to me first," Clem responded, trying not to laugh at Sam's expense.

By the time the car slipped into a reserved spot at the museum, everyone had their game face on and was ready to meet Card. The driver got out and let Sam, JoAnn, and Clem out of the car. Sam had his shirt buttoned, but he couldn't help but give her a meaningful look. She ignored it.

"Ma'am, I'll be taking these two inside, and I'll pose as Commander Axe's guard. If Card asks, I'll make up an excuse why his man didn't come along. Then everything goes as we discussed."

"Alright, let's get this over with," Sam said as he subjected himself to the cuffs.

Clem placed them on his wrists but left them loose so he could easily escape. He patted his friend's arm and spoke, a lump in his throat. "Good luck, Axeman. Don't forget I'll be watching out for you."

"Thanks, Snowbird. I appreciate it."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The door clicked behind the three as they entered the large display hall. The pieces of history that usually sat in the exhibition area were gone, and piles of lumber, movable scaffolding, and construction equipment lay about on the floor. The large windows covered with plastic sheeting let in a diffused natural light. Clem carried the sniper rifle in a case and studied the catwalks for the perfect spot to place himself.

"I like this. Lots of light to see my target." He smiled. "I guess I better get up there."

Another door opened on the far side of the exhibition hall and Tom Card walked through it. It took everything in Sam to curb his desire to rip off the cuffs and tear into the man. As Card neared, the smug expression he usually wore magnified at the sight of Sam in handcuffs.

"Hello, Mr. Chin."

"Axe. Sam Axe." He replied without following through on wanting to spit at him.

"Right. Axe." Card grinned. He turned his attention toward Clem. "Snow, I want you on the catwalk, up there." He pointed to a space where the light shone in the brightest. He reached out and grabbed Sam's collar. "Sammy and I are going to stay down here and wait for Michael to show." He noticed the guy in the suit, studied him intently, and said, "You're not Haines."

"No sir. Mr. Haines fell ill today, and the agency put me in his place."

Card narrowed his eyes. "Nobody informed me."

"No, Sir. It was a last minute decision."

He pursed his lips, thinking. He heard a door latch release and light shone in from the open entrance door. Michael Westen was in shadow, but Card would know him anywhere. "Michael! Come in here." To Haines, he rasped, "Get out of the way, into the shadows."

"Yes, Sir." He backed off behind a pile of lumber and watched.

Card pushed Sam close to within a few inches of his front and right side. If Clem didn't shoot him, Card had the perfect vantage point to do it himself. He stood grinning, convinced that he had the upper hand. He savored every step Michael took as he approached.

The ex-spy looked as if he'd been on a deserted island for a week or so. Unruly and unshaven, wearing a t-shirt and jeans that had seen better days, he looked so undignified. It made Card giddy. Finally, he was taking down the best ops guy he ever trained, and to top it off, he looked like a bum, not a world-class spy.

Most mentors would look upon this as a failure, but Card felt the exact opposite. He was proud of Michael and his accomplishments, in awe at how he managed to figure out Anson, but he was also afraid of his creation. He'd become too good for his own good, and he had to be stopped. That was Card's job as his teacher to take him down, and he would succeed. Before all was said and done, he would be the only one walking out of the building alive. Card would make certain of that. Then he would have Jesse, Fiona, and Michael's dear mother wiped out, and he could start over fresh.

Michael stopped a few yards away and held up the file folders. "This is what you want, Tom. Please, let Sam go."

"How do I know you don't have copies that you've given to the CIA?"

"You have my word." Michael stared at him with an intent expression on his face. "You were my teacher, my mentor, my boss. I wouldn't lie to you."

As Michael spoke, Sam locked eyes with him and shifted his gaze to the catwalk. Michael nodded once, letting Sam know he understood that Clem was in his perch and ready to fire if necessary.

"You really think I'll turn over your friend and let you and everyone in your little sphere live? You know too much, Michael. While it really pains me to have to do this..."

Sam felt the barrel of a pistol brush the back of his shirt. He quickly turned as he broke out of his cuffs and grasped the wrist of the hand holding the gun. Card's eyes grew wide for a moment, but he quickly recovered and struggled against Sam's grip. Sam twisted his arm to get him to drop the weapon but he wouldn't let go. Card slammed a fist into the side of Sam's face, dazing him just enough to regain control of the gun. Sam came at him again, too quickly for Card to get off a shot. It went wild and the sound of glass breaking was drowned out by another shot.

Pain sliced through Sam's arm and he backed away from Card. Card aimed at him, but he never got a chance to fire. Michael pulled out his gun and got off two quick shots in succession, deep into Card's chest. Another came from the catwalk and sunk into Card's skull as he slowly crumpled to the floor.

As the roar of gunshots echoed off the walls, Sam crouched beside Card and checked for a pulse. "Mike, he's gone." Card's eyes stared a glassy dead man's glare toward the ceiling, no breath sounds coming from him. Blood stained the front of his expensive suit, but not much. Two bullets to the heart would do that, and the final shot from the cat walk secured the end Tom Card's miserable life.

Michael and Sam looked up from Card's body as Clem came from upstairs and trotted across the empty space. He was slightly out of breath when he met them.

"Jeez, Sam, I'm sorry I shot ya." Clem looked distressed as his eyes locked on the wound.

"It's okay, you just grazed me." He barely glanced at his arm and smirked at his friend. "What happened to the guy who won all the sharp shooting medals?"

"Guess my eyesight's not so good anymore. I'm getting' old, man!" Clem replied with a shrug. "No, seriously, you got closer to him just as I was pulling the trigger. It was too late to do anything else."

Sam shrugged. "It happens. Next time, let's hope I'm farther away from the target, okay?" He pulled up his sleeve and grimaced. "Aw, look at that! You sliced off part of my tattoo!"

"It'll make ya look tough, Axeman."

"Just shut up and get me something to stop this bleeding," Sam grumbled and pressed the palm of his hand over the long gash. From the looks of it, he might need stitches.

JoAnn approached with a case in her hand. "It's done," she said as she looked past Michael and Sam and spied Card's body on the floor. She let out a relieved breath. "It's about time. Clem, I brought a med kit along for Sam."

"Thanks." Clem took it from her, and he beckoned Sam to sit on a pile of lumber while he worked on his arm.

JoAnn turned her attention to Michael. "You must be Michael Westen. I've heard a lot about you but we've never met." She gave him a big smile and shook his hand. "You all did a great job. You aren't the only one who's gotten burned by Card, but you did them all a favor today."

"I would have preferred to take him alive," Michael responded.

She shook her head. "Trust me, that would have been more trouble than it was worth. This way, we can put a nice spin on his death, and the American public will never know that there was a traitor in the CIA. As an added plus, you saved the taxpayers a lot of money!" She shook his hand again and patted his arm. "If you want your job back, just let me know. We can talk about that."

Michael stared at her, uncomprehending. "Who are you?"

"Deputy Director JoAnn Packard, CIA. I wish I could tell you what was going on beyond Card and Anson, but it's like opening a really scary box full of demons. It's been contained, and we're all better off that way."

"Why were you on that plane pretending to be just an agent," Sam asked. "Ah, Clem, careful!" Clem cleaned his wound and wrapped it with field dressing he found in the small case that the deputy director brought with her. "Now I know why you never got your field medicine citation."

"I was too busy concentrating on learning how to shoot 'em, while you were patching 'em up."

Michael tuned out the good-natured bickering between Sam and Clem and focused on JoAnn. "Why would a deputy director get involved in this?"

"Like all of you, I wanted to be there when Card went down. That's all you need to know. But I couldn't be in this room, or he would have known that something wasn't right."

"So Card was the last of the bunch?"

"Yes. You either captured or killed the others. Congratulations, Michael. This'll earn you not only your job back, but a promotion too. You could easily be an ops leader." She smiled. "Take Card's position."

"Thanks, but no," Michael said with a smile. "I promised someone that I wouldn't do that kind of work any more. As a matter of fact, I'm giving you notice right now that I'm done with the agency."

JoAnn's mouth dropped open slightly. "After all the work you did, and the trouble and heartache, you want to quit?"

"Yeah. I've had enough of it. I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but that's the way it is."

JoAnn nodded. "Okay. Well, there are some forms involved. Not like we can sneeze in the CIA without paperwork," she quipped with a smile. "If you come to my office we'll get that squared away. I can call for a ride for Commander Axe to go to the Naval hospital, if you'd like."

"It's just a flesh wound. It'll be fine," Sam said. "My tattoo on the other hand... irreplaceable."

"Hey, I said I was sorry about that! Man, some people," Clem grumbled.

"Tell you what, you find a place that serves some good mojitos around here, and I'll forget all about it."

Clem laughed. "Believe it or not, I know just the place." He closed up the med kit and handed it to JoAnne. "Ma'am, here's your med kit back. If you don't need anything from us, we're going to go mend some fences." He smiled at her.

"Wait just a minute there, fellas." She stopped them in their tracks heading for the door. "First of all, I need that Browning back. Second, I need to debrief you guys. Then you can worry about finding a mojito, although your best bet is probably in Miami."

"Works for me. The sooner we get done, the sooner we're outta here," Clem replied.

"Terrific. Let's go." As the four left the building, a white paneled vehicle like an ambulance arrived in the loading area. Two men emerged wearing uniforms and hauled out a stretcher. "He's in there," she told them, and the men went to work collecting evidence, cleaning up the mess, and taking away Tom Card's lifeless shell.

Everyone got into the two waiting cars that took them to the CIA headquarters in Langley. Michael, Sam, and Clem followed JoAnn to her office and she showed Sam and Clem where they could clean up a little and wait until she called each of them. She wanted to talk to Michael first, since he was Card's star and wanted to leave the agency for good. Better to get the unpleasantries out of the way first. JoAnn led the way inside and gestured for him to take a seat on a couch tucked to the left of her desk.

"Want anything? Coffee, soda, water?" Once he was settled in with a bottle of water, she sat on the opposite end of the couch, tucked one leg up so she could better face him, and rested her arm on the seat back. "Michael, I hope this doesn't sound like I'm trying to keep you on because of all the time and money this agency invested in training you. The point is, this country has a gift in you, and it would be a waste of your talents if you quit."

Michael smiled. "Trust me, nothing will be wasted. I'll still do freelance work..."

"Oh good!" She smiled wide.

"Not for the CIA, though. I promised Fiona that we would settle down, no more of this intensely covert stuff for the government and not knowing who was on our side and who wasn't." He took a sip of water. "She wants life to be a little more normal. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that's like." He laughed, feeling the tension of the past six years melting away as he spoke. He became even more confident in his resolve to end his relationship with the CIA. "I'm willing to learn, though."

"Okay, I just had to give it another try." She got up and went to her desk, pulled some forms from a desk drawer, placed them in a file folder, and handed it to Michael. "Here you go. Why don't you work on these, and I'll talk to Sam and Clem about their involvement in this mission. By the time I'm done with them, you should have read through all those papers and signed them, I would think."

"Thanks. What, no nice pen with a really cool CIA logo on it?" He tapped the folder into the palm of his hand.

"Sorry." She handed him a mass-produced cheap pen. "Budget cuts, you know."

"Of course, save the tax dollars for the important stuff." Michael nodded in understanding. "Which one do you want first?"

"I'll worry about that when we get to the lounge." She smiled and leaned over, picked up his bottle from the coffee table. "Might as well take this with you."

"Thanks."

JoAnn escorted Michael to the lounge and looked at Clem. "Captain Snow, I'll talk to you first."

"Uh oh, don't let her beat it outta ya!" Sam teased as Clem got out of his seat beside Sam.

He leaned toward his friend and murmured, "I'll bet she has better ways of making a guy talk." He winked at Sam and turned to follow JoAnn to her office.

For her interview with Clem, JoAnn got behind her desk. She saw the looks that passed between Sam and his friend, and she had no doubt that he would try to charm her if she took a more intimate approach like she did with Michael. The woman had been in the job long enough to read people, and she knew this guy could be charming and playful, but he also could be sharp, to the point, and deadly.

"Clem. I want you to tell me, how did Card approach you?"

"It was the oddest thing. I received an invitation letter in the mail. I thought it was some kind of joke, but then I got a phone call from Card, and he was dead serious." Clem rested his elbows on the armrests and clasped his hands as he sat up straighter. He was in full business mode, it was obvious to her. "He sent a plane for me, a car and a driver. It was like he didn't give me much chance to say 'no'. He flew me to DC, and when he told me what my assignment would be, to kill Anson, I thought ok, great, get a really bad guy out of the way. I was cool with that."

"So you agreed to do the job. Was there any signature on paperwork, or did any money change hands?"

"He gave me a deposit of ten grand in cash. I was to get the rest when I finished the job." Clem cleared his throat.

JoAnne got up and went to her fridge. "Water?"

"That'd be great, thanks." She handed him the bottle and it reminded him of the plane. He smiled at her as he removed the cap. After taking a drink, he continued. "Okay, so I was told to be in Atlantic City, so I was there waiting. Then I got the call where to be and when, so I jumped into a cab and got my butt down there. But I was also told there was a change in plans. I was supposed to kill Anson and the guy who came out with him."

"Nate Westen."

"Yeah. Only I didn't know who he was. I asked Card for a name. He said I didn't need to know." He sighed deeply, dipped his head, and massaged his brow. He looked up at her again. "After it was over, I thought I was done and that I could go back to Panama and just be left alone. He wired me the rest of the money, and I thought that was it. I was done." He paused again. "It bothered me that I didn't know that guy's name, so I did some checking with some buddies, some connections I have in the agency. They told me he was Westen's brother, and that it was being looked at as an accident. Only I knew it was intentional. I shot it just the way Card wanted me to." He blinked and looked away out the windows. "I felt like crap about that. That guy didn't deserve to get killed."

"How did you wind up trying to kill Westen and his team?"

"About the time Mike and his friends arrived in Panama, Card called me. He said he wanted Westen and his team dead. He named them all this time, and I recognized Sam's name. I told him I wouldn't do it. Then he threatened my mom, and my sister back home... he had pictures of them on the farm, and he implied that they could have a farm implement accident and no one would know the truth." He bit his bottom lip to stifle the sound of him losing control of his emotions. The pain caused him to come back to his senses.

"Did he hurt them?"

"No. He didn't have a chance because I agreed to do it. I knew it was a mistake, but my mom and my sister, they're vulnerable, you know? My dad's been gone a few years." He pressed the back of his hand to his face and swiped it across to remove the perspiration that built up on his upper lip. Despite the air conditioning, remembering all the bad things made him sweat. "I kept hoping that I wouldn't find them and I wouldn't have to do the job, but that night I caught them walking in the dark to a safe place, I was bound and determined to do it, and live with the consequences later."

"What changed your mind?"

"Seeing Sam in my scope. I had a night vision scope, and you know how people look in one of those? It was like twenty five years had been shaved off, and I remembered our last mission together. I remembered him getting strafed by enemy bullets, lying in the street, chest bleeding through the vest because they used armor piercing rounds. He fought for every breath, and I felt so... so helpless while we fought the enemy off and prayed for the choppers to get there in time." He couldn't speak anymore, so Clem wrapped his hands around the bottle and stared down at it.

"So that memory came back and you couldn't complete the job?"

He looked up and met her eyes. "That's right. I was supposed to take out Sam, Jesse, and Fiona, but spare Michael, at least for a little while. Give him a minute to mourn over his fallen comrades." The smile on Clem's face was hardly an indication of happiness. It was a flag for the horrible guilt and regret he felt for being duped into helping Card.

"After that you allied with them."

"Yes." He told her how he met Sam and Fiona. "I decided that the only way I could ease my conscience was to help them, and prevent anyone else from doing the job I'd been hired to do."

"Didn't Card suspect you'd turned to their side?"

"I don't know. I didn't have any contact with him, but that night, after I failed to complete my mission, someone tried to poison me. So he obviously had eyes on the ground watching." He took a drink of water. "After that, I was even more determined to help Westen. If Card wanted him dead that bad, I knew there had to be something right about him."

"I think you can console yourself with the fact that if you hadn't done what you did, Westen's team wouldn't have been able to take Card. And you were instrumental in that takedown. Don't forget that." JoAnn fiddled with some files on her desk, pulled out one, and said, "This is your file, Clem. I understand that you were with the CIA but you quit after an unfortunate incident."

"Ma'am, I'd really rather not talk about that." Clem had to talk around the lump that felt like a huge marble in his throat.

JoAnn sighed and nodded. She understood his reticence. "After this, if you'd like to return, I can help make that happen. Everything that happened on this assignment, even what Card ordered you to do, will be considered part of the mission and sealed. There will be no negative repercussions."

"If I say 'no'?"

"We'll have to do an investigation to see whether the money that Card paid you came from his own accounts or if he skimmed it from government sources."

"So you're saying if I give up all that money, and I decide to not join the CIA again, I'll be let off scot free?" He raised an eyebrow.

She smiled at his craftiness. "Yes, as long as you can retrieve all the funds that Card paid you, the government will not pursue this matter any further." She paused and closed his file after writing a note inside. "However, if the investigation determines that the money was Card's personal funds, it'll be returned to you."

Clem sat back in his chair and looked deep in thought. He drained his bottle, leaned forward, and said, "You know what? You keep it. It's all blood money anyway, and I never felt good about it being in my bank account to begin with. I get a decent enough compensation from the government pursuant to my rank, so I don't need it anyway. Thanks, Deputy Director Packard."

"You're welcome, Captain Snow. I think we're done here. Would you please send Sam in?"

"Sure." Clem got out of the seat and for the first time in a long time, his soul felt lighter. But he was still unsettled. What would he do now? As much as he liked Panama, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back. He had no one there, and while it was nice for awhile to get away from everyone he knew and try to escape the issues from his past, working with a team again reminded him how he'd isolated himself and that it wasn't good.

"Am I next," Sam asked when he spied Clem standing in front of him.

"Yep. Have a ball, Axeman."

"Gee, thanks." Sam dropped the magazine he was reading and went to the deputy director's office. He gave her virtually the same information that Clem did, only from the perspective of his team.

"Thank you, Sam. You can send Michael back in."

"That's it? No tightening the screws?" He grinned at her.

"No. Although, I do need that wire back." She held out her hand and made a motion for him to give it up.

"Oh yeah, funny I forgot all about that." He stood and unbuttoned his shirt and pulled up the undershirt to expose his bare skin. "Oh brother, this is gonna hurt."

"I suppose you want me to help you." She stood and came around her desk.

"Uh, yeah." This wasn't going exactly the way he envisioned when they were in the car. "Just be gentle... but make it fast."

JoAnn found the end of the wire, grasped it in her fingers, and pulled fast and hard. Sam screamed as pieces of hair went with the tape. A few seconds later, he rubbed the denuded areas, let down his undershirt and buttoned himself up again. His breathing settled down, and he spoke softly. "Thanks."

"No problem. Sorry it hurt so much." She grimaced, feeling bad for him.

"Ah, just a hazard of the job. That's why I'm not fond of wires." He pressed a hand to his chest and turned toward the door. "I'll get Mike for you."

He entered the waiting area and found two pairs of eyes staring at him. Clem got up and met him in the door. "Sam, are you okay? What'd she do to you?"

"I'm fine. She, uh, helped me get the wire off," Sam replied, and his face fell as he realized that he did scream pretty loud. "Wait. You heard that out here?"

"Yeah. We were worried about you," Clem replied.

Sam flushed in embarrassment and changed the subject. "Mike, she wants to see you now."

"Good luck, man," Clem said as he leafed through a magazine.

"Thanks, but I don't have anything on me that I need the director to rip off," he said with a laugh. "I'm just giving her these papers, and then we'll be done."

"Great. I don't know about you guys, but I could go for a beer or something before we blow out of town," Clem said.

"Yeah, I've got a lot of pain to deal with here, you know?" Sam patted his chest where the wire had been and glanced at his arm. To Clem he said, "And besides, you owe me at least one mojito, pal."

A small smile creased Michael's face. "I'll try not to be too long."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"You know, I'm not even sure how we're getting back to Miami," Sam said as he and Michael and Clem left the CIA headquarters and walked up the street to a bar that Clem recommended. The sun began to set in the west, giving some relief from the heat, but the humidity reminded Sam of home. He almost couldn't wait to get back to Miami and have some rest and relaxation time. They all earned it.

"Packard assured me there will be a plane at the airport for us when we're ready to leave. I just have to call her and a flight plan will be filed," Michael replied.

Clem stopped in front of an overhang with a thatch roof. Calypso music played and mixed with the sounds of people chatting as they relaxed in bamboo chairs around bamboo tables scattered on a patio between the bar and the next building. Umbrellas shaded them from the hot sun. Amidst all the suits and formality of Washington, this bar was like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

"This is it, guys!" Clem grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Let's go. They've got some of the best beer in town, certainly the best mojitos, and the food is great, too."

"Uh, guys, I have a little problem."

Michael and Clem turned to Sam who stood between them. "What is it?" Michael asked.

"I don't have my stuff. They took everything from me on the ship, including my wallet, and I haven't seen any of it since."

"No problem, I'm buying," Clem declared as he patted Sam's good arm. "And if they card ya, I'll vouch for ya." He snickered.

"I'll call Packard. I'm sure she can get your stuff back." Michael followed them into the bar, and soon they found themselves seated on the patio with many others, sharing drinks and dinner. Their dirty clothes and scruffy faces garnered them a few strange looks, but the trio ignored them. Michael arranged with Packard for Sam's belongings to be delivered to the airport when they arrived in Miami, and then made another important call.

"Hello."

The sound of her wary voice brought a sense of guilt that raced through his body. It was his fault that she had to sound that way. "Fi, it's me. Michael."

He heard her gasp, and then Fiona exclaimed, "Michael! Is it okay to talk?"

"Yeah. We're fine. I'm with Sam and Clem right now in DC."

"You found Sam! Thank God!" He heard Fiona talking to someone briefly, and then she returned to the phone. "Is everything done?"

"Yes, it's over, Fi. Clem and I both shot Card. He's dead, and he won't be hurting or killing anyone anymore." He spied Sam pointing to his bloody and torn sleeve. "Oh yeah, and Clem winged Sam, but he's okay. He's just being a baby about it."

"Am not! He ruined my tat, Mike!"

"And I said I was sorry about that, Sammy!"

Fiona laughed over the phone. "I can hear them from Orlando."

"Orlando? What are you doing there?"

"I took your mum to Disney World. We actually had quite a nice time, and now we're eating at one of the better restaurants in the park before we leave. If I hadn't heard from you, I would have booked us into a hotel room somewhere." She paused. "You're okay?"

"As okay as I was before we left. Even more so, now that we don't have to worry about anyone coming after us or ruining our lives. And Fi, I did the deed. I'm no longer part of the agency."

Her breath caught. "That's a relief."

He smiled. "You didn't think I'd really do it, did you."

"I'm sorry, Michael. I had my doubts." It bothered her that he knew her so well, and even more so that she did indeed doubt whether he would take the leap. She shook off her guilty thoughts and asked, "What does this mean? What will we do now?"

"Take a couple weeks and do nothing, or go on a trip. I don't know. I just want to try to live a normal life for a little while and then decide what to do." He glanced at Sam, who held up his mojito in agreement. Clem met his gaze with a nod. "Yes, that's exactly what I want to do. Just get away from everything we're used to and do something different for awhile. I have no idea what. We'll just go and figure it out."

"I like it! When are you coming home?"

Home. That word sounded so good to him. His smile widened as he replied. "Tonight we'll be back in Miami."

"Call me when your flight leaves, and Madeline and I will be there to pick you up."

"Sounds good, Fi. We'll see you soon." He closed the connection and sat back in his chair. Letting out a long, deep sigh, he dropped his phone on the table, picked up his beer, and took a drink. "I feel like a ton of weight has been taken off my shoulders. It's liberating, and yet, scary. I don't really know what to do with myself now."

"Don't worry about it, Mikey. Just enjoy the feeling." Sam clinked his glass with Michael's bottle and downed the last of his mojito. "Anybody ready for another round?"

"You're awfully generous with my money, Sammy." Clem laughed. When he saw the guilty expression on Sam's face he held up a hand and said, "Just messin' with you, man. Go ahead, second round!"

"After this, we should finish up and go."

Sam gave Michael a knowing smile. "He wants to get back to Fiona and start that new life with her. You gonna ask her to marry you, finally?"

Michael laughed nervously. "Not sure I'm ready to do that yet."

Sam gave him a long, serious look as he wiped the condensation from his glass. "I know one thing this last mission has taught me. I'm not wasting any more time. When we get back, I'm gonna ask Elsa to marry me."

"Wow... did I hear that correctly, Mike?" Clem stared at Sam. "First of all, for Sammy to have a girlfriend, a serious girlfriend, that's like news of the century in itself! But for him to say he wants to marry her? That's unbelievable!"

"It's true," Michael replied with a smile and asked, "What about you? Are you returning to Panama? Anyone there you want to go back to?"

"There was this sweet little lady working at El Santuario, but she wasn't right for me." Clem shook his head and sipped his mojito. "I don't know what I want to do. I was in Panama trying to get away from my past, but you can see how well that worked out."

"You were there a decade. It must have worked out okay," Sam said.

"Yeah, but I always felt like someone was going to tap me on the shoulder one day and jump all over me. I guess I was right." He leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. "I think maybe I'll stay in Florida for awhile. Maybe not Miami, but..." He shrugged. "We'll see. I just know I have to do something to make a little money, because I'm surrendering everything Card gave me, which doesn't leave me with much saved up."

"You could always work with us," Michael said without hesitation.

Clem stared at him. "You're serious. You want me to work on your team?"

"You've proven yourself, Clem. I know you're not going to shoot me in the back."

"Thanks, Mike. That means a lot to me. But no, I think I'm gonna go it alone. I'll talk to Skip, and maybe he and I can do something together. I don't know."

Suddenly, Michael muttered, "I completely forgot about Jesse." He picked up his phone and dialed. Jesse answered quickly. "Jesse, it's Michael. Are you okay?" His conversation with him was short, and when he hung up he reported to Sam and Clem. "He and Skip are fine, nobody tried anything. Skip is improving, and Jesse said that now that the heat was off he was going home."

"Home sounds really good," Sam declared softly with a faraway look in his eyes. His companions could see that he was thinking of Elsa, longing to return to her. "Hey Mike, mind if I borrow your phone?"

"No problem." He gave Sam the burner phone.

Sam dialed the number that he knew by heart. For safety's sake, he never programmed it into his regular phone. "Hey Baby, it's me, Sammy. I'm coming home."

"I'll settle up the bill, and we can be on our way," Clem said to Michael as he got out of his seat and grabbed the attention of their server.

* * *

The small jet parked in front of the same hangar from where it left. It was late, but the men found quite the welcoming committee waiting for them. Michael stepped onto the tarmac and immediately found himself engulfed by two pairs of arms. Fiona was happy to see him, but his mother was beyond happy as she sobbed in joy and relief that he was home safe.

"I'm sorry, Michael. So sorry." The words were like a litany of regret that she repeated incessantly until he took her into his arms and kissed her cheek, and in her ear he whispered that it was okay.

Sam found Elsa's arms wrapped around his midsection and he held her close in his arms. She covered him with kisses, and he did the same to her until their lips met and he pressed into hers as if he'd been dying without the contact. He heard a soft clearing of a throat and reluctantly pulled away. A young man in a Navy uniform stood to the side at attention.

"Yes?"

"Commander Axe, Lieutenant Norton, Sir. We, uh, met on the island."

"Oh yeah, I remember." The kid looked far different in his ship uniform. "Come back to take me in again?"

"Oh no, Sir! I'm returning your things." He held out a clear bag that held all the possessions Sam had on himself and were confiscated when he was captured.

Sam turned out of Elsa's arms and took the bag. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"You're welcome, Sir!" He stood at attention again and saluted.

Sam returned the salute and said, "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Sir! Thank you, Sir!" The lieutenant turned on his heel and walked toward a car that was parked near the hangar.

Hearing a soft laugh, Sam looked down at Elsa. "What's so funny?"

"I've never seen anyone do that, salute you, I mean. I kind of forgot about your Navy history."

"Well, that's what it is, history. And so it all this running around and being pursued by the CIA. We're done." He put his arm around her. "Come on, let's go home."

"That sounds really good."

The couple started to walk away, but Sam stopped and over his shoulder asked, "Hey, Snowbird. You coming, or what?"

"I'm not sure where I'm going, to be honest with you."

"Perfect. You can stay with us for a little while, until Skip's out of the hospital, and maybe by then you'll have figured out what you want to do." He turned Elsa around to face Clem. "I'm sorry, honey. I should introduce you. Clem Snow, this is Elsa. Elsa, Clem is one of my buddies from the SEAL team."

"I thought you looked familiar. I think I saw you in some of Sam's pictures." Elsa smiled and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise, ma'am." He asked, "Are you sure I won't be any trouble? I don't want to impose."

"Well, you're always trouble, Clem, but you're welcome to stay."

Elsa didn't know Clem, but of one thing she was certain. If Sam trusted him enough to invite him to stay in her home with them, she had nothing to fear. She smiled at Clem and said, "Please, come and stay with us."

"Thank you very much, ma'am. I appreciate it."

"Alright then. Let's get out of here. See ya later, Mikey!"

"Bye, Sam. We'll talk later."

Two groups walked to different cars. They got in and drove away from the airport, leaving the mission behind and starting a new phase of their lives.

Michael sat in the passenger seat while Fiona drove. The lights of Miami seemed to be brighter tonight, or maybe it was because a veil of distrust and urgency had been removed from his eyes. He couldn't even imagine how it would feel tomorrow to wake up beside Fiona and have nothing to do and no one to worry about chasing him down. As part of his deal with Packard, he was put on a no-touch list again and would be there forever. So now he had his future spread before him like a wide open field. That night, he slept better than he had in years.

Sam sat in the passenger seat while Elsa drove. It felt strange to not be in the driver's seat, but he was dog tired and he was grateful for her taking the wheel. As he stole glances at her, he anticipated the time they would be alone. He wanted to talk to her about their future and wake up with her agreeing to be his wife. As far as anything beyond that, he didn't care. In her he'd found the ultimate sanctuary, and he wasn't going to walk away from it.

Clem fell asleep with the gentle motion of the wheels humming below him. He dreamed of peace and a place where he could live his life without worrying about killing or being killed. He needed to find his balance and reconnect with what he believed. He wasn't sure if Miami would turn out to become home or not, but until he was certain, he would be sticking around for awhile. For now, Skip needed him, and maybe Michael would have a job that required an extra hand. It felt good to be in demand by decent people, rather than evil men like Card.

* * *

Skip found that after he was shot, it took awhile to recover. He doubted that he would ever be the same, but that was the price one paid for helping save lives. Sometimes he whittled on toys and other things he could sell at the gift shop in the tourist town nearby, but Skip was having one of his bad days when his shoulder muscles seized up with pain. All he could do was sit on the porch and rock himself as he waited for the meds to kick in. The birdsongs and the hiss of the breeze through the pine trees punctuated the awesomeness of peace that never failed to help him relax.

Without warning, a classic Charger with an all black exterior came up the drive and parked under a tree. Behind it, a white Cadillac. He stopped rocking and stared at the vehicles. If he wasn't mistaken, those were Michael and Sam's cars. The doors opened, and a grin spread across his face as he recognized the two men who stood in the circular drive.

"Axeman! Westen!" He slowly stood, trying not to stretch his muscles and aggravate the injured area. Then Skip moved forward, down the steps, and met them in the yard. "It's great to see you guys again. How're ya doing?" Since he decided to stay in Florida, his accent came back with a vengeance.

"We're doing great, Skip," Sam answered and shook his hand. He studied his friend and knew immediately that things were not going as well for him. "Are you in pain today?"

Skip flapped a hand in the air. "Never mind about that. It's just part of life. Come on up on the porch. I'll get ya some ice tea or somethin' and we can shoot the breeze until Clem comes home."

"Do you know when that'll be," Michael asked. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around at the cover of the woods. "We need to talk to him about something. A case we need some help on."

"Well, he should be back in about an hour or so. He gets off at seven. You guys eat yet? If not, I've got supper in the oven."

"Thanks, Skip. We didn't catch anything on the way," Sam replied as he sat in one of the rockers.

The three spent time chatting about what the Team Westen Agency had been up to for the past few weeks since Clem and Skip left Miami, and Skip entertained them with stories about small town life. "He's here." Skip pointed toward the driveway. A white deputy squad car pulled up, and Clem got out.

"Well, I'll be. Look what blew up here from Miami!" Clem came forward and gave his friend a welcome hug and reserved a friendly handshake for Michael. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We need some help with a case," Michael said as he sat on the porch rail.

"I'll see what I can do. Whatcha got cookin'?"

Sam held up a picture of a pretty young woman. "Her name is Rochelle Roberts. She's a runaway, but her parents think there's more to it than that. She had a boyfriend on the internet from this area, so we think she's around here somewhere."

Clem nodded as he studied the picture. "I haven't seen her around, but that doesn't mean she 's not here." He handed the picture back to Sam. "So are you going to be hanging out for awhile?"

"Yes. Sam is staying here in town, and I'll be joining Jesse in Gainesville tonight. Fiona's in Ocala. We're hoping that one of our searches will come up with something," Michael said.

"Well, you're both welcome to camp out in our living room tonight," Clem said. "Come on in and have supper with us."

"Skip already invited us." Sam replied. "Mike is going to Gainesville tonight, but I'll stay for awhile if you don't mind."

"Not at all! It'll be great having you around, Sammy." He led the way inside. "I take it the parents don't want to get the police involved, or I would have heard about this."

"Exactly. But it wouldn't hurt to have some police assistance," Michael said. With a smile he added, "I knew we could count on you to help and keep it quiet."

"I appreciate that." Clem nodded at Michael. "I still find it strange sometimes that our friendship began with me trying to kill you. Life is funny, ain't it?"

"It sure is." The men sat down to a home cooked meal. Michael remembered and hesitated while Clem prayed aloud. Then they dug in and discussed the case among themselves. It was strange how things worked, but Michael was glad that Clem had his sights on them. Card had caused so much death and misery over the years, but in the end he helped create a new alliance and strengthened Michael and his friends as a team, and for that he had to begrudgingly thank him.

"See you later, Mike," Sam said as Michael stepped off the porch and headed for his car.

"Let me know if you have any leads, Sam."

"Will do!"

The three men waited until the Charger left the drive and pulled out onto the highway before moving back inside. Skip pulled out some beers from the fridge and set them on the cleared table. "Okay, now that he's gone, let's have a good old tall tale session. I know you've gotta have some good stories, Sammy!"

"I could probably be up all night with Michael Westen stories."

"Bring 'em on, Axeman!"

Sam popped the top off his beer, sat back in his chair, and said, "Well, there was this time in Afghanistan..."


End file.
